


The Prince's Protection Guard

by DaydreamDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Not Dean & Cas), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bodyguard Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel, Brief Cas/others, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Older Dean Winchester, Prince Castiel, Smut, Top Dean, Younger Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel
Summary: Dean's job oughta be straight forward. He's a bodyguard. He guards, well, bodies. It's kinda hard to guard a goddamn person, though, when they keep disappearing on you the way Castiel Novak keeps doing. He's spoiled, and cocky, and unfairly attractive. Dean's all kinds of screwed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RooBear68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBear68/gifts).



> This fic started off life as a little pwp, but there was such a demand for more, and endless encouragement from [Michi27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27) that I ended up wanting to write them a whole story. <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks to [@roobear68](http://roobear68.tumblr.com) for the idea and the artboard. <3

 

He's spoiled. For a goddamn grown man, Castiel Novak, Prince of a rinky-dink little European country that Sam had scored them a contract to guard, is more like a child star gone wrong. He’s supposed to be attending classes at Stanford. Improving his English and getting a Poli-Sci degree to help round out his ability to lead or some shit. Unfortunately, Dean's job couldn't be as simple as following Castiel around to his classes, and keeping him safe. Because when is Dean's life ever simple?

No, what he's been stuck with is a frickin’ party-crazed, recreational-drug-using, give-his-guard-the-slip-to-have-a goddamn-orgy man-child who has authority issues. Because that's Dean's life.

And right now, he's finally tracked the little fucker down—he's on the other side of the locked study room door that Dean's standing in front of. How the hell he keeps escaping on him, Dean has no damn clue. It's his _job_ to have a goddamn clue. Heat creeps up under his clenched jaw, his blood pressure climbs. To say that Castiel frustrates him is an understatement. A massive, massive understatement. Stupid blue-eyed, perfect-bodied, gorgeous, son of a bitch.

No one's watching when Dean picks the lock. He takes a steadying breath and prepares himself to push down what's now become an unfortunately incredibly familiar rush of intense displeasure that'll be commingled with a vicious sense of glee at cockblocking Castiel. He tries not to think too much about his emotional response to any of this. Because that? Is the Dean Winchester method of dealing with things. Once he's sure his heart’s not gonna give out completely in a fit of rage, he pushes the door open.

The brunette girl with her top off in Castiel’s lap startles upright at the sound of the door slamming into the wall. “Oh my god!” she cries out as she grabs her shirt and yanks it back on.

Impassively, Dean stares past her at Castiel’s smirking stupid shiny pink lips. He shoves down his anger and smirks at him too as the girl looks back and forth between them.

“You can go,” Castiel tells her. She looks offended, but then she glances at Dean in his suit and doesn’t argue.

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters under her breath as she goes.

Whether it was meant for Castiel or himself, Dean’s got no idea. Either way it’s kind of true. He shuts the door behind her and hits the lock button on the doorknob. “Get yourself together, Your _Highness._ You have a class in fifteen minutes.”

Castiel’s smirk goes lopsided and he raises one eyebrow as he spreads his legs in invitation, puts the hard ridge of his cock pushing up against the silver zipper of his dark wash jeans on display—and Dean reluctantly admits to himself it’s a hell of a display. “Maybe you should help me out. Brittany—” his brow furrows, “Bethany? B-something, was just about to get to the best part when you interrupted. I think you owe me.”

Dean’s answering grin is more of a grimace, “Like that’s gonna happen. Button your shirt up. I’ll give you five minutes to yourself. Calm down however you want.”

He walks back out of the windowless room before Castiel can answer, and stands right in front of the door. Maybe he pictures what it would’ve looked like if he’d said yes, but he’s not dumb enough to act on it. Castiel is a job. And his job criteria sure as hell didn’t list ‘provide orgasms’ in the description of duties.

Five minutes on the dot he knocks on the door and says, “Time’s up, let’s go.”

He cracks the door just in time to hear Castiel, choked-off breathy as he quietly moans, _“Dean.”_

A full fifty percent of his blood surges south in a fierce rush of arousal, and he quickly shuts the door again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His blazer’s done up at least, enough coverage that no one’s gonna notice the giant goddamn boner he’s now sporting. Screw Castiel. He did that on purpose.

Dean just barely schools his expression when Castiel walks out a minute later, cheeks flushed, hair a damn mess. Blue eyes knowing and bright with mischief and satisfaction. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder, and that perpetual smirk on his face that makes Dean want to wipe it off his lips. Or maybe slide his dick past them. Either way, Cas now knows the effect he’s having and Dean hates it.

“Ready whenever you are, Dean,” voice thick with a double entendre he doesn’t miss but chooses not to comment on.

“Uh-huh. Let’s just get you to class.” Dean turns his attention to their surroundings and scans the students in their path for any threats. He’s been guarding people long enough that he can pick out potential danger with barely a look. Hyper-alert and cognizant of the signs. They make it to Castiel’s class and he sits in the back as usual, Dean a few steps behind him stationed near the door.

——

Whatever Castiel had seen on Dean’s face that morning seemed to unlock flood gates. Where before Dean’d watched with feigned disinterest as Castiel flirted and fucked his way through life, now Castiel appears to be focusing his not inconsiderable efforts on Dean. And Dean’s trying, okay? Just like he has been for the last two weeks since all this started, he’s trying to maintain his professional persona. He’s trying to pretend that Castiel’s faux innocence and his teasing words, his hot glances and the way he keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing up against Dean where he hadn’t before, isn’t getting to him.

The truth, though, is that he’s so far under Dean’s skin that it’s crazy. Dean’s five seconds away from qualifying his dick as classically conditioned to respond to Castiel even glancing at him. It's making his job hard—pun _not_ intended. He's still doing his job perfectly well, because he’s a professional and he _knows_ it’s important. He has a person’s life to protect and Dean doesn’t take that lightly. No matter how much of a spoiled, ungrateful, sexy, jackass the person is.

The problem, of course, is all that tension between them—it’s distracting. And Dean starts to think that an even bigger problem than sleeping with his charge, might be _not_ sleeping with him. Because, when he thinks about it, it’s just sexual, right? This thing between him and Castiel.

If they fucked, just once, they could get it out of their systems. They’d have some awesome sex, and Castiel would move on—because if Dean knows one thing from all those months of guarding him, it’s that Castiel doesn’t do repeats. So, Castiel would move on, and Dean? Well, Dean could fully concentrate on his job again without Castiel continually trying to get his attention.

It’s just sex. What could go wrong?

——

They’re back in Castiel’s lavish apartment for the night, alarms set and doors locked, when Dean comes to his decision. The next time Castiel hits on him, Dean’s gonna go with it. His chance doesn’t take much time to come along.

He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, absently watching TV in sweats and a t-shirt before bed. Castiel’d slipped away ten minutes ago to shower, and it isn’t a surprise to Dean at all when he comes out in just a towel, his hair still dripping rivulets of water that slide down his bare chest, over his flat abdomen, the cut of his hips, and collect in the white terrycloth slung low around him.

Fucking pornographic, is how he looks, and Dean’s just done. Stick a goddamn fork in him. He lets his gaze travel up Castiel’s shins, over his muscular thighs, and by the time he’s reached the juncture of his legs, it’s apparent that Castiel’s noticed him looking and is taking a vested interest.

He forces himself to keep going, perfect hip bones that he’s planning to lick and suck at. Up over the glistening skin of his stomach, the cute freckle just above the dusky pink of his right nipple, the column of his neck, stubble Dean wants to graze his lips against, all the way to those goddamn blue eyes focusing on him with an expression caught somewhere between desire and disbelief.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes widen a little when he registers the richness of Dean’s voice, the casual shortening of his name. He clears his throat and offers a quiet, “Hello.”

Dean lets his legs fall apart, just enough to make the obvious bulge in his grey sweatpants extremely visible. Castiel’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, and pink rises on his tan cheeks. Dean smirks lazily at him, “Come here.”

Slowly, Castiel steps into the space between Dean’s legs, suddenly looking shy and uncertain. Such a juxtaposition to the confident, cocky asshole he normally presents to the word that it jars something loose in Dean’s chest.

“Hey,” he says, and Castiel looks down at him, chin tucked, right hand gripping his left forearm, “we don’t have to do this. You can just go back to your room and we can pretend none ‘a this happened.”

A flash of determination passes over Castiel’s face, his hands drop to rest loosely at his sides. “No, I want this—want you,” he pauses as he crawls into Dean’s lap, a knee on either side of Dean’s hips and for a second Dean forgets to breathe. “I just didn’t think you’d—you always seemed so.…”

Castiel’s eyes have this hopeful cautious warmth in them and Dean thinks about the way people sometimes get crushes on people who are safe, people they think couldn’t return their affections—celebrities, teachers, doctors … bodyguards? Something sick twists in his gut, and he remembers that Castiel is younger than him. For all of Castiel’s casual sex and attitude and recreational drug use, he’s still only nineteen to Dean’s twenty-eight.  What is he thinking?

Exactly what he’d been thinking becomes painfully obvious when Castiel buries his fingers in Dean’s hair and lowers his body so that he’s basically sitting on Dean’s dick. Heat converges in Dean’s stomach, and he wants to protest, he really does, but then Castiel offers him a lopsided little smile and leans in until their lips are so close that Dean can taste the mint of his toothpaste.

“You’re thinking too much,” Castiel tells him in this whisper of a voice that’s way, way too sexy. “Just touch me.”

Any control Dean might’ve regained over himself is lost in a rush of electrified pleasure as Castiel presses himself closer and seals their mouths. He sucks on Dean’s bottom lip hard enough to pull it forward and make way for his tongue to slip slickly into Dean’s mouth. Before he really register’s what he’s doing, Dean’s hands are smoothing over the bare, smooth skin of Castiel’s back, mapping the muscles beneath as he kisses Castiel back like he’ll never get enough of this.

Right about the time that Castiel starts grinding down on him, Dean distantly wonders if once is gonna be enough. He’s distracted from that thought though, because Castiel reaches down between them and tugs at his towel until it falls away. Dean breaks the kiss to look at him, and it’s like a sucker punch to the gut, how hot the picture they make is. Castiel is beautiful, hard long line of naked skin, a flush that spreads down his chest, his cock full and thick and jutting out proudly. He’s draped over Dean, the contrast of Castiel’s tan thighs over Dean’s sweatpants makes it even more of a turn on.

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathes, awestruck and hot under the collar, and he wants, badly.

“Touch me,” Castiel reminds him, and Dean doesn’t have to be told again.

Obediently, he reaches down and wraps his hand around Castiel’s cock, enough give in the soft skin there, that it slides smoothly over his hardness while Dean drags his fist down and back up again. Castiel lets out this soft puff of breath, as he watches his cock in Dean’s hand. His hips roll up into it, encouraging Dean to go faster, and he does. He wants to see Castiel fall apart like this.

“Dean,” Castiel pants, eyes coming up to focus on Dean’s for a split second before their lips crash together. Hard, biting, nasty kiss that lights Dean up like a fuckin’ Christmas tree. So turned on, that he’s aching. The friction from Castiel shifting around in his lap just enough to offer a little relief, still nowhere near what he needs.  

“Cas, fuck,” he groans into his mouth, and Castiel’s head falls back on a desperate gasp as his hips arc in a wild figure eight. Sexy and gorgeous, and by the looks of his stiffening body, so fucking close.

Dean leans forward and latches his mouth onto the spot just under Castiel’s ear, wants to make him feel good, and as he sucks and licks there, Castiel’s breathing goes desperate and shallow, whines and tight little whimpers push out of his mouth on every breath. Just as Dean’s teeth graze his skin, Castiel goes still. A low groan of Dean’s name rumbles out of his chest as he spills sticky and hot over Dean’s hand.

He slows and gentles his pace until Castiel is shaking and oversensitive, forehead tucked into Dean’s neck while he gradually catches his breath and returns to reality. Dean just gently smooths Castiel’s hair back, rubs his hand in sweeping circles over Castiel’s back. Unsure if it’s possible to even stop touching him. He wipes Castiel’s jizz off on the thigh of his sweatpants and then folds him in a lazy hug.

This was probably a bad idea, he thinks. No, it was definitely a bad idea, but when Castiel tips his head back and looks up at Dean all adoringly like that, Dean can’t find it in him to care. “Dean,” he sighs, and then his lips are on Dean’s in a sensual kiss—a jolt of pleasure sharply reminds Dean of his very, very hard cock. Castiel’s lips twitch up against his, and he grinds down onto Dean.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean murmurs, “just like that, baby.”

He’d be happy to come like this, it might take him a bit, but he’s pretty worked up, it’s possible he could blow his load in his underwear with Castiel grinding down on him, his hands in Dean’s hair, sliding over his jaw, sucking on Dean’s tongue in a hot as fuck preview of what else he could be using that perfect mouth for.

Castiel though—he’s got the same idea apparently, because one second he’s tongue-fucking Dean, and the next, he’s smoothly slid himself down onto the floor, kneeling in the vee of Dean’s legs and looking up at him with his fingertips curled into Dean’s waistband and that’s just—that … fuck.…

He nods at the question in Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel flashes him a smirk before he starts tugging Dean’s pants and underwear down in one go. Dean lifts his hips to help him, and gets his shirt off just as he’s stepping out of his pant legs, too.

He’s reclined back against the couch, naked, and the heat in Castiel’s gaze is palpable as he takes his time looking him over. “How are you this hot?” Castiel breathes, like he’s stunned, and fire burns in Dean’s cheeks.

“Dunno, how are you?” he replies, because from where he’s sitting, Castiel looks like the best thing he’s ever seen. He has for a long time, if Dean’s honest.

Castiel just raises an eyebrow at him before he curls his long fingers around Dean’s cock. He starts off slow, leaves gentle teasing kisses up the underside, and Dean’s fingers knot in his hair. Castiel groans his approval and sucks the head of Dean’s dick into his mouth. Easy, wet rolls of his tongue over the tip, and Dean’s thighs tremble.

It’s wet, and it’s messy, and Castiel makes it so fucking good, that Dean’s a wreck in no time. Suction and pressure and the smooth glide of those dark pink lips. Castiel’s vibrant blue eyes blazing up at him, and then they close in concentration as he speeds up. Feels so fucking good that Dean’s hips twitch with restraint and he wants to fuck up into all that wet soft heat, but he holds back. Castiel will get him there.

“Fuck, Cas, doing so good, sweetheart. Just like that.” He can’t help the endearments, they keep slipping out and he doesn’t care, Castiel seems to like it, anyway. “Jesus, look at you. So fucking hot.”

Castiel hums and the vibration sets off sparks of pleasure that race along Dean’s skin and settle tight in his gut. He’s close—really goddamn close. The shape of his orgasm forming low in his belly. He’s sweaty and trembling and suddenly he’s aware that Castiel is jerking off. It’s like an inferno beneath his skin … the knowledge that sucking him off got Castiel so goddamn turned on that he's already gunning for a second orgasm.

His fingers tighten in Castiel’s hair, his hips stuttering helplessly. “Cas, I … fuck … I’m gonna—”

Dean’s stomach muscles tense as he tries to stave off his orgasm long enough to warn Castiel. But Castiel just hums and swallows Dean down all the way until his throat’s fluttering around the head of Dean’s cock as he swallows. The feeling of it so intense that Dean crashes into his orgasm with violent force. He comes shaking and moaning and he’s still spurting into Castiel’s throat when he feels warm wet splashes against his calf.

Castiel’s coming too, the thought hits him like a freight train and he shudders, euphoric and shaky.  When he can finally breathe again, Dean reaches down and tugs on Castiel’s shoulder, “Come here,” he repeats, and Castiel looks up tiredly from where his cheek is rested against Dean’s thigh.

He looks wrecked, hair all stuck up, and his face is so open, a soft, vulnerable smile on his lips as he climbs back into Dean’s lap. Dean cups his cheeks and kisses him slow, sweet, like he should’ve at the start of this. “Hi,” he says, punch-drunk stupid.

Castiel smiles into another kiss. “Hello, Dean.”

They stay like that for a while, just kissing for kissing’s sake. It feels nice, and Dean likes the soft satisfied sighs he’s drawing out of Castiel. In a little bit they’re gonna have to face reality, but right now … he’s pretty damn happy with this. And he knows there’s no way that once ever could’ve been enough. That it wasn’t about getting Castiel out of his system. Because the truth of it is, that Castiel’d hardwired himself into Dean’s heart when he wasn’t looking. Judging by the way Castiel’s melting into him, Dean thinks it’s pretty safe to say that Castiel feels the same. 

So … they’ll deal with that. Later. Together.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel’s sitting out on on the balcony off of his room. There’s a small patio set he could be seated on, and if he was feeling more civilized he might. Right now, though—he’s sitting on the hard concrete, letting the coolness of it seep through his plaid pajama bottoms. Technically Dean’s plaid pajama bottoms, but Castiel isn’t in the mood to think about Dean.

He sucks in another acrid lungful of smoke, the earthy scent and taste of it filling his mouth, and he holds it in for a long moment before he exhales it slowly. His mind is buzzing. Bits and pieces of their fight keep trying to claw their way to the forefront and he wishes he could turn it off—the part of him that cares what Dean thinks of him.

It’s been a few months since that first night on the couch when Dean had finally given in to the attraction between them, and they hadn’t really talked about it. They were still messing around, they just hadn’t discussed what was happening, or what it meant. What it could mean. Not until they were yelling at each other.

Castiel rubs his hand over his face, fingers rasping against stubble he hasn't bothered to shave in a couple of days. He feels worn down, worn thin, like an old threadbare cotton t-shirt. His emotions are still sharp, and he's half-way through a joint he’d thought would dull them at least a little.

The look on Dean's face before Castiel had slammed his bedroom door shut is haunting him. It was all so stupid. Their fight, Castiel’s entire life, all of it is stupid.

He lets himself slump over until he’s lying on the concrete. The unforgiving surface isn't comfortable, but he shifts around until he's on his back, staring up at the twilight sky. A crisp breeze makes him shiver, but he doesn't move other than bringing the joint back up to his lips a few more times before he puts it out.

His eyes drift shut, and he ends up focused on the pulsing of his heart, his whole body relaxing as he feels it. He concentrates on counting the beats instead of on the guilt that's coiling in his stomach.

\---

“Cas? Cas!”

Dean's voice, rough with concern wakes him like ice water down his back. There's a warm hand on his chest, and in the dim light that's pouring out onto the balcony from his room, Dean's face is agonized and drawn. Castiel blinks up and him, confused and dizzy and cold. “Huh?”

Dean's hands flit over his chest, and the back of his head, down his arms. It takes Castiel's sleep-hazy brain a moment to understand that Dean's frantically checking him for injuries. “Dean, I'm fine,” he mumbles as he struggles to sit up, muscles aching. “I just fell asleep.”

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean exclaims, sitting back on his heels, and Castiel squints over at him. “D’you have any fucking idea how terrifying it was to find you like that? I thought you were dead, you asshole.”

Castiel's eyes narrow further, and irritation flushes his chest. He just woke up and he's already being yelled at for fucking up.  _ Again. _ “No one asked you to come in here and wake me up,” he points out, “I was  _ fine.” _

Dean glares back at him. “Yeah, well, if you're so  _ fine  _ then why the hell were you passed out on your concrete balcony? Jesus, Cas, you're pale as a goddamn sheet and you're freezing.”

Now that Dean's pointed it out, Castiel notices just how chilled he is. He shakily gets to his feet and marches past Dean into his room, burrowing under the blankets on his bed. “As you can see, I'm alright now. You can leave.”

For a second, there's no indication that Dean heard him, and then the door to the balcony closes and locks. Footsteps signal Dean's retreat and Castiel stiffens in the bed, a gross wave of misery poking holes in his anger. He's frozen, and he's sad, and he's acting like a jackass.

The bed dips and Castiel rolls over, eyes wide. He finds Dean perched on the edge looking resigned, maybe even regretful. “I'm sorry,” Dean says tightly.

Castiel's breath hitches, the last of his anger crumbling. “Me, too.”

Gently, Dean shakes his head and his fingers reach out to brush Castiel's hair back from his forehead. “I forget,” Dean says quietly, “how young you are compared to me. You were right. You've only got two more years here, and then there's gonna be a lot of responsibility on your shoulders.”

A twist of something unpleasant starts in Castiel's gut. He generally tries to avoid thinking about the future—about going home. Most people would probably enjoy the thought of returning home after so long spent away, but Castiel doesn't. He spends his time trying to enjoy every single moment of freedom he gets, because he knows it's fleeting.

Dean’s lips press into a flat line and he traces his fingertips along Castiel's cheekbone, “I shouldn't have given you a hard time about the pot, or about taking your classes seriously. It's—I just … care about you, okay? I worry about the people I care about.” His cheeks flush and he looks away, and Castiel is charmed all over again by him.

“Okay.” Dean glances back at Castiel, one eyebrow quizzically up. “That you care about me,” Castiel mumbles, his own cheeks heating. “I care about you, too,” he lets out a sigh. “I don't want to think about two years from now, Dean. I don't want to think about going home to play Prince Castiel for the rest of my life.”

“What do you want?” Dean asks softly, green eyes warm and easy in a way that makes Castiel's heart race much too quickly.

“Right now, I want to be with you,” he says as he reaches for Dean's hand. “Please?”

Dean intertwines their fingers and brings them up to rest by Castiel's head, leaning down over him. “Yeah, Cas. We can do that.”

Castiel’s heart rate picks up, thumping so hard in his chest that Dean's got to be able to hear it in the silence. When they brush against his, Dean's lips are so soft—so gentle that Castiel aches. It’s never been like this for him with anyone other than Dean. He’s been with enough people that he’s stopped counting, but with Dean it’s always  _ more. _

It’s more than pleasure-seeking and momentary comfort in another body, because for some reason Dean’s started looking at him like no one else has. Like he’s actually worth something—not his title, or how much fun he can provide, or what political favor he can curry—just  _ him.  _ It’s intoxicating, and it’s addictive and it makes Castiel feel reckless and ecstatic.

He curls the fingers of his free hand around the back of Dean's neck, encouraging him to deepen their kiss. Dean does just that, he slips his tongue into Castiel’s mouth in a slow sweet slide. A little whine catches in Castiel’s throat and Dean echoes him with a groan. It’s so easy to lose himself in Dean, in the way he slides his palm down Castiel’s neck, thumb rubbing along his collarbone as Dean sucks and flicks at his tongue with the tip of his own.

After a while, it’s much too hot under the blanket, so Castiel pushes and kicks it out of the way. Dean leans back and looks down at him with dark eyes, his gaze travelling a burning path down to where Castiel’s tenting his pajama pants. Dean bites his lip on a groan, white teeth digging into kiss darkened flesh and Castiel wants to suck away the indents he leaves there.

“You look way too good in my clothes,” Dean explains, hand gliding up Castiel’s thigh from knee to groin. “Drives me crazy.”

Castiel smirks. “I know.”

Dean chuckles and shifts up onto the bed until his body is blanketing Castiel’s. “Of course you do.”

Eyes locked on Dean’s, Castiel slides his hands down over the broad muscles of Dean’s back, past the dip in his spine. He squeezes Dean’s ass and guides him into a grind that starts up a fire in his belly. Dean melts into it easily, suckling at Castiel’s jaw, scraping his lips over the stubble there, and making them both shudder.

It heats up fast, Dean’s cock is pressing hard against Castiel's, friction that he rocks up against. Dean pulls Castiel’s t-shirt up over his head and off, quickly shedding his own shortly after. God, Dean’s gorgeous; all smooth skin and firm muscles, freckles that speckle his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are bitten red, green eyes lust-bright, he looks like a wet dream come to life, and at least for now—he’s Castiel’s.

They crash back together, mouths meeting in a kiss that spirals emotion through Castiel, that turns him inside out, spins him around and rights him again in the span of moments. Dean’s palm sneaks between them and presses down firm over the bulge in Castiel’s pants, big and hot and Castiel arches up against him, pushes himself into it with a moan.  _ “Dean.” _

“I got you,” Dean says, voice rough, hands gentle.

“Dean, I want….”

Against his lips Dean mumbles, “Anything,” and Castiel shivers. He doesn’t know—he wants everything, wants  _ Dean.  _ So he kisses Dean hard, and then he reaches down and stills Dean’s hand.

“Fuck me,” Castiel breathes, barely a whisper, but Dean’s sharp inhale indicates that he heard it. Castiel’s done a lot with a lot of people, he’s done a lot with Dean, too, but not this. Dean’s never asked for more than Castiel has offered. Now that he’s said it out loud, though, Castiel realizes just how badly he wants Dean like this. There’s something needy and hot in his chest, and he wants to be as close to—as connected to—Dean as he can be.  

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, pulling back and scrutinizing his face. “We don’t have to. I get the feeling you haven’t—”

“I’m sure,” Castiel tells him. “I’m … I’m sure.”

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and rests his forehead against Castiel’s, and it’s incredibly overwhelming, what he feels for Dean.

“Okay,” Dean says softly, “We can … okay.”

He slides his hand up Castiel’s body until he’s cupping the side of his neck, and Castiel lets his own arms wrap around Dean’s back. The smile he gives Dean doesn’t feel polished, it’s not cocky, it’s not fake. And the one Dean gives him in return is warmer than anything Castiel’s seen from him so far. And really, there’s just only so much emotionality that Castiel can handle in a given interaction, so he nods his head toward his nightstand and says, “Lube and condoms.”

“Pushy,” Dean mumbles, but his lips tug up as he shifts his weight off of Castiel and reaches for the drawer.

Castiel takes the opportunity to get his pajama pants off, pushing them down and then kicking them onto the floor. He looks back up and finds Dean giving him a slow once over. Dean finally catches his eyes and Castiel quirks an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Dean says, mouth moving into a lopsided smile that is utterly attractive and completely unfair. “Can't help it that you're hot.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but his cheeks burn anyway. “Mhm. Hurry up.”

Dean sets the lube and a condom by Castiel's hip and then he cups Castiel's cheeks. He kisses Castiel again deeply and in defiance of Castiel's demand, unhurried. He lets it pass, because Dean wraps one of his warm perfect hands around him, stroking him in a loose grasp and fuck, he loves Dean’s hands.

Over Castiel’s jaw and down his neck, Dean leaves little biting kisses, easily finding the best places to make Cas react—spots that Dean’s already memorized.

By the time Dean’s slowly pressing one slick finger inside of him, Castiel’s gasping and writhing for him. He’s barely holding back the pleasure threatening to consume him, and the only thoughts he’s capable of thinking are about Dean’s talented mouth and his clever fingers.

Dean takes his time, and Castiel’s torn between grateful that he’s not rushing, and cursing him for drawing it out. A second finger slides in and the stretch of it twinges a little before Dean distracts him—his tongue runs hot and wet up the length of Castiel’s cock before he wraps his lips around the head and sucks him down.

“Fuck,” Castiel grunts, head dropping back onto the pillow, eyes slamming shut because if he keeps watching he’ll definitely come. The sight of Dean’s slick pink lips locked around him is too much all on it’s own. Combined with the sensation of Dean’s fingers twisting and plunging into him, spreading him and making room for another, he just—he can’t. “Dean,  _ Dean, wait.” _

Everything stops, Dean freezes and Castiel struggles to catch his breath and tamp down on the rising tide of his climax. The heat of Dean’s mouth disappears, but his fingers don’t move. “Need me to stop?” he asks, voice fuck-roughened, not even a trace of disappointment in it. Why is he so perfect?

“No.” Castiel finally opens his eyes and meets Dean’s. “I just didn’t want to come yet and you're … you … so,” he shrugs, an embarrassed flush heating his chest.

Dean chuckles, low and pleased, “Almost there, baby. Still want me to fuck you? We can just do this.”

“I want,” Cas shifts his hips, “you to keep going now, and then I  _ want _ you inside me. Please?”

A darker blush spreads over Dean’s cheeks and his hips hitch a little like he can’t help it, and isn’t that interesting? Dean likes it when he asks nicely. Castiel bites his lip, and looks down his body, sees Dean’s thick forearm tense and follows the line of it up his bicep, to his shoulder, all the way to his face. “Please, Dean?” he repeats, and lust flashes bright in his belly when Dean shudders a little and nods.

He doesn’t need to ask again, Dean reaches for the lube and slicks up another finger, and then Castiel forces himself to relax as Dean presses it slowly into him alongside the others. He’s thumbing the cut of Castiel’s hip with his free hand, and it all just feels so  _ good. _ From the way Dean’s watching where his fingers are disappearing and reappearing with every thrust to the way he keeps grazing that spot and jolting a rush of hot pleasure through Castiel—everything about this moment is hot.

His dick is throbbing, and sweat is beading up on his skin, sticking his hair to his forehead and he just wants Dean inside of him—he’s done waiting. “Dean, please. Fuck, God, please. I need,” he gasps when Dean withdraws his fingers.

“Jesus, Cas. You’re so—fuck.” Dean’s got his sweatpants off and the condom rolled on before Castiel's even gotten his bearings again. He's spreading lube over his thick cock with lazy strokes and Castiel watches helplessly, caught up in the spell that is an aroused Dean Winchester touching himself.

Eventually he snaps, “Dean, stop teasing and fuck me.”

Instantaneously, Dean drops down heavy over him, holding his weight up with one hand by Castiel's head. He licks his lips and Castiel tilts his head up for a kiss. Dean's mouth grazes his, just a hint of heat and pressure and then he leans up and watches Castiel's face as he pushes slowly inside of him.

He's so big, and Castiel's eyes go wide as Dean slides inside and just keeps going and going—a burning, aching stretch that steals his breath and leaves him gasping, clinging to Dean, fingers digging into the muscles of Dean's back. Finally Dean's hips press flush to Castiel's ass and he stills, cradling Castiel's jaw and kissing him sensually.

There are too many sensations, too many feelings, competing for Castiel's attention and he can't focus on any of them. So he just holds onto Dean and trusts him.

“You're so fucking tight, Cas,” Dean mumbles, “So gorgeous, God, I want you so bad. All the damn time.”

“Me too,” Cas says back, “I want you, too. Please?”

Dean's hips grind forward and they both groan. “Yeah,” Dean whispers shakily. He brushes the hair that's damply stuck to Castiel's forehead away, and lays a kiss there. Castiel aches all over at the tenderness of it. “Yeah. I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Their gazes are locked as Dean pulls back, cock withdrawing nearly all the way, and it's so intense—Dean’s green, green eyes framed by the dark fan of his honey tipped lashes, and the firestorm of sensation he's setting off in Castiel. Dean shoves back in slow, fucking Castiel with long, steady thrusts and he's so  _ full.  _ Arousal and affection and something big and warm all mixing up inside of him and making him tremble.

“Dean,” he gasps, fingernails scraping down Dean's back, hips working in conjunction with Dean's, so hot that Castiel's lit up like a bonfire with it. Dick throbbing in between them, and desperate for touch.

Dean's eyes darken, and then he's kissing Castiel again, cock pushing in and out, over and over, and Castiel bites down on Dean's bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and licks away the sting. Dean noses along his jaw, scrapes his teeth down Castiel's neck and makes him arch up wildly, moaning and panting—incoherent with pleasure.

His whole body buzzes, every part of him attuned to Dean. And Dean was right, he  _ is _ making him feel good. Somehow their fingers wind up laced together again beside Castiel's head and he slides his other hand into the top of Dean's hair, guides him back up into a kiss that scorches. He tries to convey without words everything that Dean makes him feel—the whole confusing jumble of it.

Dean moans into his mouth and Castiel wants to hear him really lose it. He can't wait to feel Dean come inside of him. “Dean, Dean, please.”

_ “Cas,”  _ Dean sighs, sounding agonized and on the edge, and fire flares in Castiel's gut, an inferno of desire.

“Come for me,” Castiel pleads, “I want—”

“You first,” Dean says, shifting his weight and wrapping his hand around Castiel's cock. Tight grip and quick flicks of his wrist instantly start hurtling Castiel toward his climax. He’s so close that he can feel it building, tension shaking his thighs and stiffening his body.

“Dean, fuck.”

Castiel’s stomach tightens, volcanic pleasure gathering at the base of his spine. His orgasm seizes him so hard that he cries out, whole body convulsing with it as he pulses wetly in between them. He's dimly aware of Dean moaning his name, shoving in deep and twitching inside of him, teeth sinking into Castiel's bottom lip as he does.

They stay that way for long moments, locked together, dazed and satisfied and sweating. Neither of them ready to pull away just yet. After a while, breathing each other's air melts into kissing and Castiel can't stop touching Dean, even after he pulls out and discards the condom. He can't stop smoothing his hands over Dean's skin, can't stop pulling him closer.

Dean doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get away either, swollen lips curving in a smile and eyes glittering warmly when Castiel catches sight of them in between kisses. It feels good, being with Dean like this. It feels right in a way that things rarely ever do to Castiel.

For now, at least, he’s going to let himself keep it—keep Dean—for as long as he can. From the second he laid eyes on Dean, he was lost, anyway. Where's the use in pretending he wasn't?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda dead, a very kind person in the comments brought this song to my attention, and it's insanely perfect for this chapter, and honestly the whole fic. I cried listening to it, and you should totally also listen to it and cry: [The First Days of Spring – Noah and the Whale. (link is to YouTube)](https://youtu.be/r0tjkuM-1uY)
> 
> <3

It’s spring break. Normally, Dean loves spring break. He takes his annual vacation someplace warm where getting laid is like shooting fish in a barrel and he spends the week knee deep in co-eds of any gender. This year not so much. First of all, he’s got this thing going on with Castiel, and while they haven’t really defined it, it’s sort of obvious that neither of them are seeing other people.

Dean knows for sure that he hasn’t slept with anyone other than Castiel, and he also knows that Castiel’s stopped sneaking out, which he takes to mean he’s not sleeping around either since he’s basically with Dean 24/7 when he’s not in school or hanging out with his small band of friends—although technically Dean’s there for that too, just as his shadow.

So this spring break there are no practically naked chicks and dudes throwing themselves at him for the price of a drink. Nope. What Dean gets is following Castiel down to Fort Lauderdale with a ridiculous number of barely legal college kids, and a boatload of anxiety about having to keep him out of trouble in the chaos. Once Castiel had made his plans and informed Dean, he’d roped Sam into joining them for extra security. Nowadays Sam mostly rode a desk, but he was still in good shape and sharp as a tack.

Ever since their fight Dean’s been reluctant to put his foot down about Castiel’s occasional partying and this apparently fell under the same umbrella, ‘cause while he’d raised objections, he hadn’t been forceful about it. To say that Dean had regrets would be an understatement.

They’re in some club that Castiel had tipped the bouncer enough to look the other way at, and it’s crowded. Techno music is pounding out loud, dirty, and fast. The baseline rumbles enough that Dean can feel it vibrating through him. In their suits, Dean and Sam stand out like sore thumbs, and sweat makes the fabric of Dean’s shirt and underwear cling uncomfortably to him. That's not even the worst part.

Sam keeps shooting him meaningful looks in between scanning the crowd clearly saying, ‘we need to get him out of here,’ like Dean doesn’t already know that. Meanwhile Castiel pounds back drink after drink and dances with his friends.

There’s a flush of heat beneath Dean’s skin that he knows is jealousy, but one of the guys in Castiel’s group—a relatively good looking guy with shaggy longer dark hair and eyes nearly as blue as Castiel's—keeps putting his hands on Castiel and it’s lighting up some primal part of Dean’s brain with near homicidal rage.

The guy’s hand slides down from the back of Castiel’s shoulder to the dip of his spine and heat burns up Dean's neck, underneath his tense jaw. His fingers clench into fists and his stomach knots up angrily. Once he sees Sam’s eyes on Castiel, Dean glances around the club again, and there’s nothing different than the last time he looked. He breathes out a harsh breath and when he looks back the guy’s fingers start dipping into the back of Castiel’s jeans. Okay, that's fuckin’ it.

He just makes out Castiel pushing the guy away with an icy expression on his face, and logically Castiel can definitely handle this, but Dean’s already closed the space between them, and Sam instantly flanks him. Castiel blinks drunkenly up at Dean for a moment, face morphing into a lazy smirk as the guy who’d been all over him scrambles back and out of the club under Dean and Sam’s stony glares.

It takes every ounce of control Dean has not to follow after the guy and kick his ass for trying to take advantage of Castiel when he’s clearly drunk. There’s a brief second where Dean’s temper finally cools a degree, but then Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and leans up like he’s gonna kiss him and what the fuck is Castiel thinking? Sam’s  _ right _ there and Dean’s on the clock. The music in the club is way too loud for Castiel to hear him, and Dean’s irritation flares hot again. So he grabs onto one of Castiel’s wrists and tugs him outside. Castiel doesn’t resist, and Sam takes up the rear.

Outside there isn’t much less noise than there was in the bar, the street’s crowded and littered with drunken revellers. It takes longer than Dean would like for them to make it back to the hotel they’re staying at. Castiel, blissfully, stays silent on the trip, though Dean can feel him stewing, and the tension radiating off of Sam is just as bad.

Once they get up to their floor, Sam and Castiel wait outside of Castiel's door while Dean secures the room.

After he's made a thorough tour, Dean pokes his head back out the door. “All clear.”

Sam glances between him and Castiel, and then he says, “Hey, Castiel? Why don’t you go get set up in your room? I need a minute with Dean.”

For a second, Castiel hesitates, swaying slightly on his feet, and Dean wants to follow him inside just on principle, but Sam’s got his serious we-need-to-talk face on, and Dean’s gonna look so much more suspicious if he doesn’t stay out there. Castiel tilts his head and looks at Dean for guidance, so he gives a tiny nod. Castiel offers Sam a smile that’s not even close to real. “Okay, Sam.”

As soon as the door clicks shut behind Castiel, Dean watches Sam mentally countdown to when he thinks Castiel is far enough from the door. “Dean, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Flatly, Dean stares at him, he’s tired and he’s not in the mood for this conversation—basically, ever. “Dunno what you mean, man.”

Sam’s eyes are flinty, and there’s barely repressed anger in every line of his body. “Really think you can lie to me? That’s how you wanna play this?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not playing anything, Sam. I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah, so the whole jealousy trip back there? That was part of the job? Or how about Castiel hangin’ off of you like that, lookin’ like he was about to kiss you? That part of the job, Dean?” Sam asks, voice as pissy as the look he’s giving Dean.

Dean’s eyes narrow, his own fury rising up in him even though it’s completely irrational, nothing that Sam’s saying is wrong, but he’s defensive anyway. “Don’t know what to tell you, I wasn’t jealous—I was anticipating a problem. And I don’t know if you noticed, but it turned out my gut was right. That guy was a douche. As for Castiel, he’s just some kid with a crush. It’s happened before, not a big deal, Sam.”

“It is if you’re acting on it,” Sam shoots back, gaze intensely focused on Dean’s face, undoubtedly trying to read any little tell that might appear.

“C’mon, Sam,” Dean protests. It takes a lot of effort not to give anything away, but he thinks he pulls it off when the tense set of Sam’s shoulders relaxes a little. “Give me a little credit.”

Sam rubs a hand over his face and blows out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, if you’re not sleeping with him, give me one good reason you thought this trip was a good idea.”

Dean sags back against the wall, and tips his head back to look up at the ceiling. “I dunno. I tried to talk him into something more reasonable, but you know just as well as I do that he woulda snuck out and tried to go on his own if I’d flat out said no. And that just—that’s way more dangerous than having us here to watch his back.”

Sam’s head tilts in acknowledgement. “Fine. But we’re not doing another club like that. He can figure out other plans, we’re gonna be lucky if that whole scene doesn’t make the rags.”

Fuck. Dean’s nose wrinkles up at the idea of any of this night being splashed across some gossip magazine. Maybe they’ll luck out and it won’t. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. We’re all beat, so let’s just get some sleep.”

After Sam watches his face for another beat, he sighs again and says, “Yeah, okay. Call me when he’s up for the day, I’m guessing he’ll sleep in.”

Dean’s lips quirk up. “He always does.” Sam raises an eyebrow. Dean scowls at him and mumbles, “‘Night, bitch.”

“‘Night, jerk.”

Dean turns around and heads into Castiel’s room while Sam goes into the adjoining room. He’s exhausted and all he wants is to climb into bed with Castiel, but he can’t for more reasons than just the guilt simmering in his gut over lying to Sam. Tiredly, he rubs the back of his neck before he goes into the bedroom suite to check on Castiel.

When he gets there, Castiel is curled up on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow and his breathing is slow and steady enough that Dean’s pretty sure he’s asleep. Something in his chest tightens at the sight, and he makes himself head into the bathroom for a quick shower. Once he’s clean and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats he silently double checks the entire suite, then he beds down on the couch with a blanket he found in one of the bedroom drawers.

\---

He bolts upright completely alert even though the room is still dark. Dean’s long been trained out of grogginess when he first wakes, and he doesn’t second guess himself when he instantly gets to his feet and makes his way back toward where Castiel was sleeping. His racing heart slows to a manageable level when he hears the distinct sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom.

He opens the bathroom door, and finds Castiel curled around the toilet, covered in a sheen of sweat. He’s in a pair of plaid pajama pants that Dean’s pretty sure are his and a white t-shirt that’s clinging wetly to his skin. His eyes meet Dean’s, bloodshot and watery and he looks like he’s about to say something but his face crumples and he leans over the toilet for another round of puking.

Dean feels bad for him, he’s been in his place and he’s not a monster. So he runs the tap on the sink until the water’s ice cold and he wets a face cloth with it. He rings it out and then places it on the back of Castiel’s neck. A shiver courses through Castiel and Dean sits down on the edge of the bathtub next to him, rubbing Castiel’s back while he dry heaves. Castiel’s trembling, and he rests his forehead on his arms which are curled over the back of the toilet seat.

Thickly, Castiel swallows and clears his throat. “You … y’don’t hafta—”

“Cas, it’s fine. I wouldn’t be able to sleep with you barfing in here anyway, and no offence but you look like you might need some help gettin’ back up when you’re done,” Dean says gruffly.

Castiel’s head rolls to the side so that he can glare up at Dean, the hurt on his face like an unanticipated stab to Dean’s gut. “Not a kid,” he slurs angrily before he goes pale again and turns his face downward. Throwing up bile’s always the worst part, and Castiel shudders when he’s done, clinging to the toilet like it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing onto the floor. Hell, it probably is.

After a few moments, when Castiel doesn't look up at him again, Dean offers, “I know you're not a kid, Cas.”

Castiel’s shoulders tense and he starts shaking minutely. “Y’told Sam I’ws,” he says all blurred together and dripping with emotion, and Dean flinches. He didn't think Castiel had heard that.

“Yeah, well I had to tell him something. You almost kissed me right in front of him,” Dean says defensively, guilt prickling up under his skin again.

Weakly, Castiel shoots him a glare as he pushes himself to his feet, ignoring Dean's outstretched hand offering help. Dean rubs at his face while Castiel rinses out his mouth with the complimentary mouthwash on the sink. Fuck. Dean feels like shit. He can't take Sam and Castiel both being pissed at him, it sucks ass. He reaches out and flushes the toilet as he stands up too.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean tries as Castiel stumbles out of the bathroom. He somehow makes it to the bed, and sits on the edge, staring off somewhere near Dean’s feet when he stops in the middle of the room after following him.

In a small voice, and looking so damn unsure of himself that it physically hurts Dean to see him like that, Castiel says, “You could’ve just told him.”

It’s the most coherent he’s sounded since Dean rushed in here, and it makes Dean feel even worse. “Is that what you want?” Dean’s heart pounds in his chest, an uncomfortable mix of contrition, fear, and regret tangling hot in his stomach. “‘Cause if I do that, there’s no way Sam’ll let me stay with you. He’ll reassign me, have one of the other guys take over. Hell, maybe that’s for the best anyway.”

Castiel makes an upset sound and Dean moves forward, drawn helplessly to him. He clings to Dean, arms wrapped around Dean’s waist and his face pressed against Dean’s stomach. Gently, Dean’s smooths a hand through Castiel’s sweat-damp hair and rubs his other over Castiel’s back. “Cas, Sam reassigning me would be the right thing to do. I’m—the decisions I’m making aren’t clear headed. I could put you at risk,” Dean’s stomach twists. He doesn’t wanna think of it that way, but here they are. “It’s better for you if I go. One way or another we both know you’re gonna have to let me go eventually.”

There's a big, suffocating feeling in Dean's chest and he knows what it means, but he can't say it. Castiel’s meant for much better things than whatever Dean could offer.

“Not yet,” Castiel begs, voice tinged with grief and desperation, fists curling in the back of Dean's shirt. “Dean, not yet, alright? I don't … I promise I won't be reckless anymore. I'll try harder, okay? I'm sorry.” 

That ripping, jagged, tearing feeling in Dean's chest and clawing at his throat’s gotta be his heart breaking. He pulls back and cups Castiel's cheeks. Slowly he leans in and just presses their lips together softly, so gentle that he aches. When he pulls back again, Castiel's blue eyes are wet and bright with anguish, the drunken haze in them from earlier gone.

Dean hates what he has to do, and he hates the way it's going to hurt Castiel, but Dean's been letting his dick run the show for way too long now and it doesn't matter that it dragged his heart along for the ride. It's crystal clear to Dean that he can't effectively do his job  _ and  _ be with Castiel. Something's gotta give.

“If you want me to stay,” he says and almost loses his nerve at the hope that lights up in Castiel's eyes, “Cas, we can't do this anymore. I can't be impartial when I'm trying to keep you happy. I can't keep you safe.”

The light in Castiel's eyes dims, hope a dying spark that Dean's snuffing out. It feels like he's gutting himself, it hurts that badly to watch, but what else can he do? His options are leave and likely never see Castiel again or … or they can break it off and Dean still gets to be near him. Gets to be the one keeping him safe like he was supposed to before he let them get carried away.

And sure, Castiel is crushed now, but all this ever was to him was a distraction before he went home, right? He's meant for better, Dean tells himself—and maybe if he repeats it enough he'll believe it. Maybe if he repeats it enough it won't make him seethe with possessiveness.

Castiel still hasn't said a thing, he's just staring brokenly up at Dean, he's not used to rejection of any kind, and even if that's not what this is, to Castiel it probably feels like it is. Once he finds his words Castiel's eyes are already filling up with tears, and Dean's man enough to say they're triggering his own. “Dean, why can't we just—I shouldn't have—” he cuts off, one hand cupping his mouth as his tears spill over and Dean can't resist comforting him one last time.

He climbs up onto the bed and pulls Castiel into his arms so that he's laying with his head on Dean's chest. Tears soak through Dean's shirt, and he rubs Castiel's back again, the only thing he can think of to soothe him. “Sweetheart, this ain't your fault, okay? You didn't do a damn thing wrong. I did. I am. I … I just can't keep doing something I know could get you hurt.”

Dean heaves a sigh, and Castiel holds onto him tighter. “You don't, uh, you don't gotta decide tonight if you want me reassigned, but tomorrow I either gotta talk to Sam, or there needs to be nothing to tell him about for real. So, think about what you want, Cas. I'll find a way to handle it.”

“I want  _ you,” _ Castiel says against his shirt, petulantly enough that Dean cracks a smile even as a tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it away before Castiel can see.

A little wetly, Dean replies, “I know, sweetheart.” Dean also knows he's gotta stop calling Castiel that, but he's clinging to Castiel too, in his own way.

“Just—” Castiel looks up at Dean, forehead furrowed and eyes anxious, “stay with me tonight. Here. I want—” his voice breaks, and Dean shushes him, he gets it, anyway. He wants it too, one last night in the same bed together.

They wind up spooning, Dean curled up behind Castiel, Dean's arm wrapped snug around his chest, fingers pressed over Castiel's heart. The steady beat of it serves as a reminder of what he's losing—but also what he's saving. Tomorrow, one way or another, Dean'll figure out how to shore up the hollow shattered mess in his chest, but tonight, with Castiel drifting off to sleep in his arms for the last time … Dean just lets himself feel the excruciating lacerations his heart just suffered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it helps at all, I broke myself too. T.T Feel free to cry with me in the comments.


	4. Chapter 4

The wrecked, cracked open, bloody wound in Castiel’s chest has settled into a sort of numbness over the last week. They’re back in his apartment now, most of spring break’d been spent playing tourist during the daytime hours with some of his friends and just putting in enough of an appearance that Sam didn’t get suspicious. All because the last thing he’d wanted was to lose Dean completely.

Sure, things are stilted between them, but at least Dean’s  _ there.  _ He’s trying to keep things professional between them when all Castiel wants to do is reach out and touch him. Fingers constantly clenching to keep himself from actually doing it, heart aching that he has to hold himself back. It isn’t fair. As far as Castiel can tell Dean seems unaffected. Back to his stoic, distant role as Castiel’s bodyguard.

That maybe hurts most of all. It was so easy for Dean to turn it all off, that Castiel wonders if he ever really cared about him. Maybe for Dean it was all just sex in the end. Maybe Castiel’d been the only one falling.

As the days pass, Castiel becomes more and more sullen, more withdrawn. Now that he’s out from under Sam’s watchful eyes, he doesn’t need to keep up pretenses. Somehow, he finds the energy to attend his classes, but that’s it. Any time he isn’t in them, he retreats to his room.

His phone fills up with mildly concerned texts from people he doesn’t really consider his friends, and some from people he does, like Meg, and his older brother, Gabriel. It’s only a matter of time before one of them shows up and tries to pry the truth about what’s going on out of him, and yet he can’t bring himself to text them back.

There’s a knock on his door, and Castiel’s gaze shifts from where it was glued looking out his balcony door at the fading daylight to his bedroom door in confusion. This is new. Dean’s been leaving him to his own devices, and he can’t help the lightning flash of hope that wells up in his chest before he shoves it harshly down. “Yeah?” he asks, moving up to sitting on his bed.

“Can I come in?” Dean asks, voice quiet and unsure.

It squeezes something in Castiel’s chest and he runs a hand through his hair. “Alright.”

The door swings open and it’s not Dean’s fault that he’s so beautiful in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but it’s agony to look at him, so Castiel turns his gaze back to the skyline. Dean sighs like he’s disappointed and Castiel bristles before he even says a word. “Cas,” Dean says in a reasonable tone that does nothing to soothe Castiel’s ruffled feathers—if anything, it makes it worse. In the pause Dean leaves, Castiel can hear the way he used to call him sweetheart. “You can’t keep hiding away in here.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Castiel replies flippantly, pretending that Dean isn’t the reason he’s feeling this way, the reason he’s isolating himself. He glances at Dean then, and the frown on Dean’s face makes Castiel feel tiny, insignificant and stupid. Like a recalcitrant child.

“Okay, fine, you can do what you want, I’m just—”

“Don’t,” Castiel says, all fury and hurt, eyes narrowing on Dean. Dean’s own eyes widen and Castiel feels a vicious stab of satisfaction at the brief flash of sadness in them. Finally proof that Dean feels  _ something  _ for him. “It’s been two weeks. I’m allowed to be however I want to be. You can’t fix this,” Castiel tells him, voice breaking a little. “So don’t try.”  

\---

He makes it through another two weeks, but the ache in his chest is growing instead of shrinking. It’s been a month since the last time Dean held him and Castiel already forgets how it felt. He wishes he didn’t.

Dean’s single-minded focus on Castiel’s safety would probably be admirable to some people, but it’s grating on Castiel’s nerves. He’s tired of being alone, and he’s tired of feeling miserable—he’s tired of feeling  _ at all.  _ He wants to get black out drunk and do something stupid. He wants to be reckless and forget who he is and what he’s lost for one damn night, but he doesn’t want to see judgement in Dean’s eyes while he does it.

So Castiel decides to do something he hasn’t in a long damn time. He sneaks out after Dean’s gone to sleep. His heartbeat pounds in his ears the entire time that he silently creeps toward the front door of his apartment dressed in his tightest jeans and a shirt that hasn’t fit him in a year. If he’s going to be stupid, at least he’ll look good doing it.

It’s not until he’s a block away that he finally breathes easy again, and like every time he’s snuck out before this, he’s impressed with himself a bit for managing to get past Dean. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and texts Meg to find out where she’s at tonight. She always gets invited to the best parties. To his surprise she doesn’t ask him a million and one questions about where he’s been, she just sends him an address.

It turns out to be a house far enough away that Castiel has to take a cab to get there. The ride is silent, the driver correctly intuiting that Castiel's mood doesn't leave room for small talk. He watches the street lamps flash past his window, and tries to ignore the clenching anxiety in his gut the further that he gets from Dean.

He just needs one night away from the suffocating feeling of wanting someone he can't have. Not anymore. He rubs a hand over his face and tries to avoid thinking altogether.

Fifteen minutes later they arrive at an average pale blue two-level house on an utterly unremarkable residential street and Castiel pays his fare along with a generous tip.

“Thanks, man,” the driver says with a wide smile as Castiel climbs out. He nods his head in reply.

The sounds of the party are filtering out into the otherwise quiet night, muffled music loud enough that Castiel hears it from the curb along with the occasional loud laugh or playful scream. He almost has second thoughts, but he shuts those down and pastes a confident smirk on his face as he climbs the steps.

Once he's inside, he finds the kitchen, universal location most likely to contain alcohol which he sorely requires. A few people shout his name along the way and he offers them smiles and brief waves but he doesn't stop. His main goal is to get trashed as fast as he possibly can.

Leaning up against a counter and talking to a red-headed girl that Castiel recognizes from some of his classes, he discovers Meg. Her hand is on the red-head’s arm and they're clearly flirting. Good for Meg, if she's distracted she might not hound him for details on why he's been avoiding her.

There's a crowd gathered around a granite top island that's littered with bottles of hard liquor, and a cooler full of beer bottles, in the center of the room. Castiel works his way to the front of the crowd, snagging a half full bottle of vodka and then retreats closer to where Meg is. He winds up sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking directly from the bottle.

After not really drinking much in a while, the burn makes him wince, and the taste causes his stomach to roll. He powers through anyway. By the time Meg notices that he's basically right behind her, he's already downed half of what's left.

“Well, hey there, Clarence. Didn't see you come in,” Meg says, loud enough for him to hear over the pretty terrible pop music someone's put on. He feels sort of like he's in a bad teenage made for TV movie for a disorienting second.

“Meg,” he greets, then tips the bottle up for another mouthful.

“Ah,” she muses, “that kind of a night, huh?” She reaches out her hand for the bottle and Castiel eyes her warily. “Share the wealth, Cas.”

Reluctantly, he hands it over. “Fine, but save me some. I need it.”

He's already downed several shot glasses worth, enough that his stomach has warmed and he's starting to feel the effects, body relaxing and a pleasant feeling of well-being settling in his chest, filling up the cold hollow he's been carrying around for weeks.

Meg grins at him. “Sure.”

He watches as she downs most of what's left, eyes twinkling when she hands the bottle back with a mouthful left. She doesn't even cough at the burn, but then he's seen her chug alcohol that even he couldn't swallow.

“I know what you're doing,” he informs her, squinting as he drains the bottle and sets it on the counter next to him.

“Oh do you?” she asks sarcastically.

“Yes,” he smiles at her though, it's nice that she cares so much about him. At least someone does. “But I came to get sloppy drunk, so—”

“Sure thing, but at least do a girl a favor and come dance with her first.” Meg demands with a lopsided smile. “Then I'll snag us some drinks and we can go hang out in the backyard away from the commoners—and yes, I am aware that they're my people.”

He sighs longsufferingly, and then slides off the counter. His legs are a little weaker than he expects them to be and he laughs as he stumbles. Meg grins at him again and tugs him into the living room. People are crammed together in what passes for a dance floor when there isn't really one. Meg leads him to a spot she deems acceptable and then they get lost in the rhythm of the trashy music.

Castiel’s not a great dancer, but he's not the worst either—and besides, enough alcohol is flooding his system that he wouldn't care even if he  _ did _ dance like a giraffe on cocaine. Every once in awhile he stumbles into someone and Meg laughs at him.

Eventually, after several songs, they're both out of breath, the heat of the bodies around  them turns stifling. Meg finally concedes to his pleading gaze. He waits for her by the sliding door to the backyard, and as promised, she comes with four bottles of beer cradled in her arms. 

\---

He's incredibly drunk. His thoughts and speech sluggish, his body overheating and his limbs heavy where they're sprawled out in the grass. Meg’s sprawled out too, her head upside down next to his as they stare up at the few stars visible.

“The brightest ones,” Meg mumbles, waving a hand at the sky, and he tracks the motion of her hand half-lidded.

Castiel hums. “'S pretty.”

He glances over and she wrinkles her nose like the word is offensive. The world spins around dizzyingly as he turns his head back to look up again.

“Hey, Cas?” Meg says, softer than she ever speaks.

“Yeah?”

“W’ever it is, 's gonna be okay, y’know?” she says and Castiel frowns, thoughts creeping right back to where he doesn't want them to go—right back to Dean.

A knot swells up in his throat and he can't blink fast enough to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes, because she's wrong. The hole in his chest gapes open ten times as big, and he swallows hard. “What if it's not?” he asks, voice raw and muddled with emotion.

“'S gonna be,” she repeats patiently. “Maybe not right now, but 's gonna get better.”

Castiel doubts that very much, but he wants to believe what she's saying. More than that he wants to forget about Dean and the guilt that's starting to nag at the back of his mind wondering if Dean's sixth sense about Castiel has led him to the discovery that he's gone yet. “D’you have smokes?”

Loud and brash, Meg laughs. “Do I have smokes?” she asks, amusement in her voice almost as thick as the sarcasm. “Smooth.”

She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Between one blink and the next, she passes Castiel a lit smoke, and he smiles his thanks at her. His coordination is shit, and he definitely shouldn’t be trusted with a flame.

For a while they’re quiet, cloudy grey puffs floating above their heads and dissipating. Now that he’s being silent though, Castiel's thoughts are melancholic again. Every bad thing he’s been pushing down is creeping in on him, overwhelming him. He hates thinking about Dean waking up and finding him gone. Would he think it’s his fault? Would he try to leave Castiel again, all the way this time?

Castiel’s stomach turns sickly. He should go home. He pushes himself up to sitting and looks hazily down at Meg in the grass. “‘M gonna go. Y’wanna drive home?”

She raises and eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes. “In a cab. Didn’t drive m’self.”

“Nah,” she replies. “Gonna go find Charlie ‘n see if she wants to—”

“Shhh,” Castiel tells her, pressing a finger to her lips and making her grin. “Mystery.”

Fondly, Meg laughs at him, then she stands up and reaches out a hand to drag him up to standing. He sways a little, but he stays upright. “You g’na be able to walk to the cab, Clarence?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “‘M fine. Could drink a whole liquor store and be fine,” he’s pretty sure he slurs most of that, but her lips twitch with repressed laughter, so she understood it okay.

“Uh-huh. Well, champ, let’s go.” 

\---

He’s on the front steps after having left Meg in the kitchen with her redheaded friend from earlier, Charlie, apparently. There’s a cab on the way, but he couldn’t stand being inside any longer, so he’d wandered out front to wait. It’s like everything is crashing down around him again, and all he can think about is Dean’s green eyes warm with affection for him. Dean’s lips curled up in that little smile he got sometimes right before he kissed Castiel. How warm his mouth was, the way he always smelled so good.

The door next to him opens and startles him out of his thoughts. A familiar face glances over at him. Blue eyes curious, long shaggy brown hair framing his face, Inias looks over at him. His face breaks into a smile that Cas tries to politely return. “Hey, Castiel. There you are. Hester said she saw you around here somewhere.”

“Here I am,” Castiel replies, voice flat. He’s not really in the mood for a conversation with anyone, and Inias least of all. If it wasn’t for him, Dean might never have felt it necessary to end things like he had.

Heedless of his tone, Inias closes the door behind him, and comes over to stand in front of him, too close. Castiel just watches him, brows furrowed a little. “You disappeared after Florida, we were worried.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, he barely knows Inias and Hester, they’re just acquaintances.

Inias smiles lopsided at him. “We care about you.  _ I _ care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”

Unthinking, Castiel replies, “Yes.”

That startles a chuckle out of Inias, but Castiel doesn’t understand why—he’s being honest. Suddenly Inias is much closer, and Castiel blinks hard to focus his blurred vision. He doesn’t have time to react before Inias’s lips are pressed against his, Inias’s fingers threading through Castiel’s hair. It takes Castiel’s intoxicated mind a moment to realize that Inias is kissing him. His stomach revolts, twisting nauseously as he shoves at Inias and tries to push him away.

There’s a tongue in his mouth and Castiel gags,  pushing his hands harder against Inias’s chest—he wishes he wasn’t so drunk. Finally Inias seems to realize that Castiel isn’t participating and he pulls back, a stormy look on his face. Castiel rubs at his own mouth disgustedly. “I have to go,” Castiel says pushing past Inias and practically tripping down the front steps in his haste.

“Cas, come on,” Inias calls after him.

On his heel, Castiel spins around and glares daggers up at Inias. “Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me again.”

“What the hell’s going on with you, Castiel?” Inias says, anger in his tone, in the harsh lines of his face. “You used to be fun, and I know you used to like it when I kissed you.”

Fury and embarrassment burn themselves into Castiel’s cheeks. “That was one time, Inias! Over a year ago. Get the hell over it.”

Inias’s features twist with rage, and Castiel watches his hands ball up into fists. “Maybe I don’t want to get over it. C’mon, Castiel. We were so good together. We could be great if you give me a chance. Everyone just wants to sleep with you because you’re a novelty, but not me. I  _ care _ about you.”

Shaking his head, Castiel backs up a couple of unsteady steps down the walkway. “Not interested.”

Blue eyes widen and then narrow at him. “Is it that bodyguard? What’s his name, Dean? Are you actually fucking him? Hester said she thought you were but—” his gaze sharpens at something Castiel’s face reveals. “He’s taking advantage of you, Castiel!”

“No,” Castiel insists, and it’s the truth. His arms cross defensively. “Dean’s not the problem,  _ you  _ are. It was a one night stand Inias. ‘Case you haven’t noticed I do that a lot. You’re not special. I never made you believe it was more. Just leave me alone.”

God, even he can hear the slurring of his words together, he’s way too tanked for this conversation. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Turning away, he starts walking down the path, wondering where his fucking cab is.

“Come on, Castiel. Where are you going?” Inias demands, but he doesn’t follow as Castiel keeps going and starts walking down the street.

He’s done talking to Inias, and he’s done waiting for a stupid taxi that’s taking way too long to get there. His heart is pounding, echoing in his head, his face is too warm and he’s miserable. One foot in front of the other, he keeps going.

He’s been walking for ten minutes when he stops at a street corner and glances up at the signs. The names aren’t familiar. He has no idea where he is and he sinks down onto the curb as hopelessness crashes over him.

His throat tightens wretchedly and he knows he’s going to cry. It’s the middle of the night, he’s alone, lost, and he wants Dean. Any pride he had is long gone, tears are tracking down his face. He pulls his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them, and he bends his head down to rest his forehead on top. Castiel closes his eyes and the ground beneath him rocks like he’s on a boat.

This is stupid, and he hates it. He can’t stop missing Dean, he can’t stop hurting no matter what he does. It takes him a little bit to cave to the voice in the back of his head telling him to call Dean. He sighs and wipes his face before he somehow manages to get his phone out of jeans that are practically painted on him, and then he powers it up.

There are twenty missed calls and enough missed texts from Dean that Castiel winces, suddenly apprehensive. Dean’s clearly worried. He’s going to be mad. Castiel blinks sleepily. Finally, he calls Dean back. The phone barely gets a chance to ring before Dean picks up.

“Where are you?” Dean demands harshly.

Castiel sucks in a breath of air that catches in his throat, words dying a swift death.

“Cas?”

“Dean,” he manages, voice rough and it’s probably obvious he’s been crying.

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean’s voice is panicked, and it breaks something in Castiel’s chest even more. He lets out a little pathetic sound. “Sweetheart, just tell me where you are okay? I’ll come get you right now, you just—Cas, talk to me.”

“I’m lost,” he slurrs. “Was at a party and Inias—I just had to go … and now ‘m lost.”

“Wait—Is Inias that kid from the club?” Dean asks, something dangerous in his voice. Castiel almost doesn’t want to tell him yes, but his silence must speak for him, because Dean growls, “I swear to God if he hurt you, I’m gonna rip his lungs out!”

For some reason, that strikes Castiel as funny even though he’s distressed, and he can’t help the hysterical laugh that spills out of him. “I’m okay, told him no.”

“Let me guess, he didn’t take it well?” Dean asks sympathetically.

“Uh, no,” Castiel replies, he feels that’s an understatement, but seeing as Dean’s not currently threatening murder, he doesn’t say as much.

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna come find you, alright? I’ve got the tracking app up now that your phone's on—looks like you’re about twenty-five minutes from me. Can you stay on the phone for me?” Dean asks, and Castiel hears the sound of Dean’s car starting up. He’s always liked that gorgeous black car.

“Yeah. Your car is pretty,” he says, brain to mouth filter gone.

Dean’s voice sounds farther away, like he’s on speakerphone, “Pretty drunk, aren’t you?”

Castiel chews on his thumbnail, stomach twisting and sinking at the same time. “You mad?”

“Right now I’m worried. We can talk about being mad later,” Dean says calmly.

Castiel hates the way his chest warms up over the fact that Dean’s been worried. It’s his  _ job _ to worry about Castiel. He tries to tell himself that, but it doesn’t seem to matter. It still makes him feel a little better. God, he’s such a mess. No wonder Dean doesn’t want him.

“Hey, Cas. Talk to me, okay?” Dean requests, and Castiel nods.

“Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Castiel's breakdown was difficult to write. T.T I hurt my own feelings. Next chapter is hopefully where I start putting them back together, because ouch. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think in the comments, or come visit me on tumblr [@daydreamdestiel](http://DaydreamDestiel.tumblr.com) or twitter [@daydreamdestiel](http://www.twitter.com/DaydreamDestiel). <3


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s heart races in his chest the entire drive to Castiel’s location. To be honest, it hasn’t stopped racing since he woke up a few hours ago with dread in his stomach and the eerie feeling that something was out of place. A quick check on Castiel had revealed he was gone, and though Dean’s heartbeat had picked up, he hadn’t started panicking yet. Not until he noticed that Castiel had turned off his phone.

He’d vacillated between terrified and furious while he checked all of the places he could think of that Castiel might go. He’d been on the tail end of pissed off when Castiel had called him, but now he’s mostly just fucking relieved as he pulls up to the curb just behind where Castiel is sitting.

Castiel looks small, and cold. He’s curled up in a tight t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, ratty black and white converse pressed close together like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. The street is dark, house lights all turned out, and the streetlamp only cuts through the darkness so much. Dean’s headlights though, they light Castiel up and make him seem ethereal for a moment, blue eyes squinting hazily up at Dean’s car.

Dean gets out and walks over to him, kneeling down, and tilting Castiel’s face up to get a better look at him, fingers smoothing into his hair involuntarily. “Are you okay?” Castiel’s eyes are red and puffy, he shrugs, and Dean’s heart aches. “Okay, c’mon, let’s get you up.”

Castiel’s hand is cold in Dean’s, and he can’t resist pulling him into a hug, trying to warm him up. Against him, Castiel shudders as his arms wrap around Dean, fingers curling up in Dean’s Henley.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbles into Dean’s chest, voice quiet and shaky.

Gently, Dean rubs his hand over Castiel’s back. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you it’s okay that you did this, but you’re alright and I got you. We can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober.”

He doesn’t want to let Castiel go, but he has to. For one, they can’t keep standing out here, someone’s bound to notice them and call the cops or something. Secondly, he’s not supposed to do this anymore. Castiel smells like cheap vodka and grass and the slightest hint of his sporty shampoo, and Dean gives himself a few more seconds to breathe him in before he regretfully pulls away.

Castiel’s eyes are shiny and Dean just wants to wrap him right back in his arms, but he needs to get this show on the road. “Hey,” he says, and Castiel tilts his head a little. “We gotta go. Let’s get you in the car and warm you up.”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees. Dean keeps his hand on Castiel’s lower back as they walk over to the car, ready to catch him if trips. He’s unsteady enough that Dean worries he will, but he makes it there okay and climbs in under his own power.

Once the door’s shut behind him, Dean lets out a little sigh as he makes his way around to the driver’s side. He’s suddenly exhausted, the weight of everything that could’ve happened to Castiel pressing in on him and making his breaths turn sharp. Dean opens his door and scrubs a hand over his face in an effort to wake himself up a little more before he slides into his seat and pulls his door closed.

\---

On the ride home Castiel falls asleep surprisingly fast, listing over until his head is resting against Dean’s bicep, and it can’t be comfortable, but Dean doesn’t have to heart to wake him up. Now that Castiel is safe, Dean’s thoughts are racing in a different way. He’s not stupid—he knows exactly what caused this.

He’s pretty much been waiting for it to happen ever since they got back. Castiel’s never been good at coping with his feelings, Dean’s always been able to tell that. There’s a reason he’d spend so much time partying and sleeping his way through college, and as much as Castiel would like to claim that it’s because he’s enjoying his freedom … it’s completely obvious that that isn’t the only reason.

If anything that’s the excuse he gives to cover up how shitty he feels all the time, the future hanging over him like gallows that he’s marching toward. But that’s his life, and Dean thinks it can’t be that bad to live in the lap of luxury. Even if it’s probably rigid and boring.

This time though—that’s not what Castiel sneaking out was about. It wasn’t some kind of rebellion and it wasn’t about banging a few gongs before the lights went out, it was about Dean. He grips the steering wheel tighter, guilt settling heavily in his stomach. This was about Castiel holding everything he’s feeling in until it exploded violently.

It’s not like Dean doesn’t recognize the signs—he’s been holding everything in too, but seeing Castiel breaking down under the weight of it is hard. Maybe it would be better if Dean did step back. It can’t be easy having him around all the time. He knows it’s hard on him, seeing Castiel every day and not being able to touch him, kiss him. Hell, even just cuddling with Castiel on the couch. He misses it all.

Dean’s got a lot more experience with keeping his emotions under wraps than Castiel does, though. He’s used to not having the things, or the people, he wants. Castiel hadn’t wanted him to leave the night that he’d broken things off, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy for Castiel if Dean sticks around.

With a tired sigh, Dean pulls into the underground parking in Castiel’s building and parks the car in its designated space. He looks down at Castiel, resting against him, and his chest squeezes tight. Castiel’s hair is dishevelled, sweeping across his forehead and sticking up in places. His cheeks are pink, lashes long and dark. All Dean wants to do is watch him sleep a little longer, face peaceful.

For a second he lets himself wish things were different—that he’d met Cas at a party or a bar. That he didn’t have to choose between protecting him and loving him. Wishes don’t do shit though, Dean reminds himself and then he gently shakes Castiel awake. “Hey, we gotta get you upstairs.”

Castiel hums and sits up, barely awake, eyelashes fluttering adorably as he tries to focus. Dean climbs out of the car and circles around to Castiel’s door, alert to his surroundings even as he helps Castiel out and onto his feet.

“Tired,” Castiel mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and frowning.

“Uh-huh, and you can go to sleep soon as we get upstairs and get some water in you,” Dean says, fondness in his voice that he can’t keep out.

Like it’s a huge inconvenience, Castiel sighs and leans into Dean’s space. “Fine.”

Same as earlier, they make their way toward the elevators with Dean’s hand resting protectively on Castiel’s back. Dean presses the button to call the car, and he winds up with a sleepy Castiel curled around him, head tucked under Dean’s chin. He’s drunk, Dean reminds himself, and feeling crappy. If he needs to lean on Dean a little for now, that’s okay.

The ding of the elevator makes Castiel sway back upright, and Dean guides him into the car.

\---

Alone in the kitchen now that he’s gotten Castiel into bed, Dean rubs his palms into his closed eyelids. There’s a lot to think about, and he’s bone-deep tired. All of the anger and anguish from earlier is melting into helplessness. Is there even a right answer for what to do here?

He’s been trying so damn hard to do what’s right, but he’s also been trying to stay selfishly close to Castiel. Is it possible that breaking up with him wasn’t enough? What if this incident isn’t isolated? What if Castiel keeps doing this? The idea of him putting himself in even more danger turns Dean’s stomach. He doesn’t know what to do, how to make this right.

There are things that Dean’s never been good at doing—like figuring himself out, or dealing with other people’s feelings … but Sam? Dean latches onto the idea like it’s a lifeline. Maybe Sam will pull him from Castiel’s detail the second he tells him, but is that really a bad thing? When he’s so damn compromised?

Because the one thing he really has to face is that keeping his emotional and physical distance from Castiel isn't a cure all, like he'd hoped it would be. Especially not with how Castiel’s deciding to deal with it. It'd been rough enough to witness him locking himself away from everything. Now he’s putting himself in potential harm's way.

Mind mostly made up, Dean fishes his phone out of his pocket and calls Sam. There's four rings and then a Sam answers, half-asleep sounding, but alert.

_ “Dean? It's,” _ there's some rustling,  _ “it's four am, what's up? Is everything okay with Castiel?” _

A weary, worn-out sigh escapes him. “Not … not really, no.”

_ “You wanna maybe elaborate on that? Like, what level of panic am I supposed to be at here, dude?” _

“The level where you were right in Fort Lauderdale,” Dean admits and Sam snorts, but doesn't interrupt. “It's not like you think okay—just, can you let me explain? Before you say anything I need to talk to my brother, then my boss.”

_ “Okay,”  _ Sam says sincerely.  _ “I'm listening.” _

Dean chews his bottom lip, thinking about which bits are the most important, first and foremost Sam needs to know he wasn't just fucking around with a random client. “Cas is—I'm in love with him, for starters.”

Sam sucks in a breath at that confession and Dean's fully aware that he's never used that word about anyone to Sam.

“It started … you know what? Doesn't matter how it started, but I swear to you I didn't take advantage of him. I tried, Sam, so hard not to give in to this, but he—fuck … he just gets to me like no one else. So it happened.”

_ “Dean,”  _ Sam says, voice sad, but Dean's not done confessing his sins yet.

“You were right—That night in Lauderdale. You were right. I didn't wanna admit ‘cause I wasn't ready to lose him … not all the way. So I—” Dean cuts off and swallows hard, surprised at the emotion welling up in his throat.

_ “You broke it off with him?”  _ Sam kindly supplies.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs it a little. “Yeah.”

_ “Okay, well, it's been weeks, why are you telling me now? Unless … did something happen?” _

“He's been depressed,” Dean says.

_ “Well, yeah, you broke his heart. What'd you think would happen?” _

“Not this,” Dean tells him, honestly, voice strained. “I knew he cared but I could never be more than temporary for him, Sam. He's a goddamn Prince. I'm a bodyguard. It's not—It wasn't ever gonna be what he needs.”

_ “Okay, so he's sad, you're in love with him, but you can't do anything about it. That sucks, by the way. But something big happened tonight, didn't it? Only reason you'd be up at ass crack of dawn let alone calling me.” _

“He snuck out again while I was sleeping. Turned his phone off and went to a party half an hour away. He was gone for hours, getting loaded. Apparently he had some sort of confrontation with that asshole from the club—”

_ “The one that groped him?” _

“Yeah, that fucker. He hasn't told me what the hell happened exactly, just that he said no, and dickhead didn't take it well. He wound up walking off on his own and got lost. Finally had the damn sense to call me. I was going nuts worrying.”

_ “So,”  _ Sam pauses,  _ “What’s the plan now, 'cause I know you're thinking something.” _

Dean sighs and slumps back against the counter. “I dunno, man. For once I got no clue. I keep trying to do the right thing here, and I keep screwing it up more. I don't—” he chokes up a little and pushes it down, this is about Castiel. “I don't know what's best for him. Maybe having me around is too much.”

_ “Sure, and maybe if you leave all the way, he crashes and burns worse, only no one's there to catch him when he falls.” _

“What if he's better off though? It'd be a clean break and then he could get over me,” Dean says even though it feels like being eviscerated.

_ “As your brother, I need to know if you really want that?” _

“I want what's best for him.”

_ “And you don't think talking to him might help you decide what to tell your boss?” _

“He hasn't talked to me sober in two weeks,” Dean admits, cheeks burning and stomach knotting up.

_ “Okay, well, just based on what you're telling me … Dean I'd recommend you be reassigned. Or hell, take some vacation time. Maybe when you get back, his feelings will have cooled off. Actually, that one might work best. If he's fine when you come back, problem solved. Right?” _

Dean's so tired right now that he'd agree to just about anything. “Yeah, okay. Can you give us a day though, so I can explain it to him?”

_ “Yeah, I'll have Benny come relieve you tomorrow. Get some rest man.” _

“Thanks, boss,” Dean teases.

“Oh, no. That was Sam your brother. Sam your boss is gonna lose it on you as soon as Sam your brother thinks you're up to it. Wow … I just talked about myself in the third person a lot, huh?”

Dean manages a chuckle. “Go back to sleep, Sam.”

So he'll be leaving Castiel after all. If only temporarily. The idea makes something fierce and painful claw inside of his chest, but what choice does he have? There's not a better option here. And Benny's a great guy, one hundred percent the person he'd've picked to replace him.

So how come Dean feels like he might be making a huge mistake here? Getting Castiel to let go of him and move on is something that has to happen. Dean's feelings for him don't matter—not a bit. Castiel is his priority. Always will be.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel’s head is pounding when he jolts awake. His stomach turns and twists, bile burning at the back of his throat. He takes measured breaths in through his nose and then swallows hard as memories of the night before start filtering to the surface of his mind. His cheeks blaze, and something uncomfortable tightens his chest. God, he’d been such a mess. He’d made it all worse. Now things would be a thousand times more awkward between him and Dean.

For a while he just lays there going over all the stuff he'd done last night, analyzing everything and berating himself. Eventually he gets sick of wallowing and peels himself from his bed.

He manages to shower and dress himself in lounge pants and a black zip up hoodie. The fact that he makes it through all of that without pausing to throw up is a fucking miracle as far as he’s concerned and it gives him hope that he can possibly keep down some toast.

He’s got one hand on his bedroom door knob and he just needs to turn it, but he freezes. Is he really ready to face Dean? He chews on his bottom lip, indecisive and suddenly consumed with dread. If he opens the door then he has to face the consequences of last night.

Then again, if he stays in here much longer, Dean'll definitely be in to check up on him anyway. Castiel sighs and twists the knob. He might as well get this over with. Shuffling toward the kitchen he doesn't let himself look over at Dean sitting on the couch. He needs coffee and some dry toast before he can even remotely deal with this day.

Luckily for his sake, Dean silently waits on the couch. From the kitchen, Castiel can hear the quiet white noise of the morning news that Dean has on. Sense memory makes him recall the feeling of being pressed up against Dean's side, half asleep in the morning, coffee mug clutched in his hands like it's his most precious possession.

The complicated coffee machine in front of him beeps and he snaps back to the present, where he's hungover and depressed and his stomach is rolling with a mix of embarrassment and worry. He manages to get his bland toast half-eaten before giving up on it and turning his attention to his coffee.

It's sweet and creamy, just the way he likes and the familiarity of it settles some of his nerves. Some. He takes another slow sip, and watches the clock on the microwave until he can't handle waiting any longer. Shoring up his defenses, he heads back into the livingroom and settles down on the opposite side of the couch from Dean. He sits crisscross and glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

He looks tired, purple smudges beneath his dulled green eyes, skin a little sallow. Still gorgeous though, because Dean is never not. It’s devastating how much Dean can affect him without even trying. Castiel clears his throat and finally turns to face Dean. 

“I—” Castiel sighs and rubs his fingertips and thumb into his temples before he drops his hand and looks up at Dean. “I’m sorry.”

If anything, Dean looks worse off after Castiel’s apology, like the air’s been sucked out of him. He nods and offers Castiel a weak smile. “I know you are. Told me last night, but uh,” he trails off and wets his lips, looking away from Cas and settling his gaze on the glass coffee table. “We can’t keep going like this, Cas.”

Instantly, Castiel’s stomach drops. He stares at Dean, panicking. What’s Dean saying? He can’t—is he? “Like what?” Castiel asks, voice hoarse. It’s all he can get out around the anxiety clogging up his throat.

“Me being here—it’s making things worse for you. It’s making things harder than they need to be,” Dean glances up at Castiel then, features neutral and Castiel’s heart seizes in his chest. He wants to deny it, he wants to beg Dean not to go, but … it turns out that Castiel’s pride  _ does _ exist, because he holds himself back. He’s humiliated himself enough lately. “I … uh, I have some vacation time and I’m gonna use it. Sam’s got a bodyguard, a buddy of mine, coming by later to take over.”

Castiel forces his voice to remain even when he asks, “But you’ll be back?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean confirms with a nod. “I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I just—look, I don’t wanna go, but I think you need space. If I wasn’t here you wouldn’t’a snuck out last night. You put yourself in a situation that could’ve gone a lot worse to avoid me and that’s … I don’t want that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel says, Dean shakes his head, eyes saying it is. “I won’t do it again.”

“Good. That’s good. But I still gotta do this,” Dean tells him, tone apologetic. “I talked to Sam and—”

“You told him,” Castiel cuts in, voice wounded in a way he can’t hold back. “So you wouldn’t be able to go back on your decision.”

Of course Dean would be self-sacrificing like this. Of course he’d make sure he had insurance in case Castiel put up a fight. For a moment, Castiel closes his eyes and pushes down the negative spiral of his feelings, because he doesn’t have a choice. Dean’s doing this—nothing Castiel says will matter anyway, so why bother.

Dean shrugs a shoulder, “I needed to make sure you’d be okay. Sam needed to know and … I needed his advice. I’m not exactly good at this.”

“Okay.”

One of Dean’s eyebrows rises, “Okay?”

Castiel shrugs as he stands up. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind, so … okay.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs and looks plaintively up at him.

Shaking his head, Castiel backs away. “You should probably pack and … I have a paper to work on.”

When he retreats to his room, Dean doesn't stop him. Just that little bit extra, Castiel's heart breaks.

\---

The sky outside of Castiel's window is dark grey and thick with heavy clouds. He peers at them, disoriented, as he wakes again. It’s fitting that even the weather is awful. He should get up. He should get up and go soak up the last bit of time he has alone with Dean before he leaves, but he can’t summon the energy.

Instead, he lies in his bed and watches the clouds open up and release the downpour they’ve been holding in. Droplets fall on his balcony, blown inward with gusts of wind. A tear tracks down the side of Castiel’s face and into his hair before he forces away the ache in his chest and swallows on the itch in the back of his throat. He’s being melodramatic and stupid.

Why can’t he get over this? Dean’s clearly trying to.

He doesn’t manage to get out of bed until Dean knocks on his door to introduce him to Benny, his temporary replacement. Castiel thinks he seems nice enough, but he’s not really up for small talk, so as soon as Dean leaves, rolling suitcase in hand, Castiel retreats to his room again.

\---

It was bound to happen eventually. A few days after Dean had left, Castiel wakes up to the sensation of his hand in warm water. He blinks and brings his hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Water drips down his face and he frowns. Then he rolls his eyes. Gabriel. It has to be.

“Nice try,” he calls out to his older brother, sitting up as he does, “but that hasn't worked since I was five.”

There's a loud laugh from the other side of the door and then Gabriel bounds in with a grin on his face. “Worth a shot.”

He glares at Gabriel, though it's half-hearted at best. “Why are you here?”

“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, you know exactly why I'm here, don't play coy, baby bro. We have a deal,” Gabriel says as he waves his arms expressively. “And that deal is?” he gestures at Castiel.

Castiel grits his teeth and then sighs. “I answer at least one text and one phone call a week or you're forced to check up on me in person.”

Gabriel smirks at him, “Correctamundo. And it's been what, three weeks since you answered me? I was getting worried, already had a plan to drop in when I got a sad little text from Meg about your drunken adventure. She's still feisty as ever, by the way.”

Sighing, Castiel scrubs a hand over his jaw. What is he supposed to tell Gabriel? He could deny that anything’s wrong … but that won’t go over well, it’s  _ obvious _ that something’s wrong. Gabriel’s smirk drops from his face and he sits on the bed next to Castiel’s legs. Something in Castiel’s chest tightens up, and his face floods with an angry rush of heat. All of a sudden, he doesn’t want to keep everything to himself anymore.

“It’s a long story,” he says uncertainly, staring down at his lap.

“Good thing I’ve got time then, huh?” Gabriel tells him gently.

Everything that’s happened comes pouring out, and contrary to his nature, Gabriel doesn’t make jokes—he doesn’t crack a single one. He just listens until Castiel’s throat is sore from talking, from holding back tears, and his stomach is hollow. When he’s finally done talking, Gabriel keeps waiting.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Castiel demands.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you done?” Gabriel asks, one eyebrow raising. “‘Cause I’m not really getting what the problem is.”

Frowning, Castiel stares at him incredulously. “What d’you mean—I—the  _ problem _ is that I’m in love with Dean.”

“So?” Gabriel’s picking at his nails, not even looking at Castiel, and what the  _ fuck? _

“So?” Castiel scoffs. “So I’m in love with someone I can’t be with!”

Gabriel looks up at him through his lashes, amusement in his whiskey eyes that infuriates Castiel. “Says who?”

“Were you not listening?” Castiel asks petulantly. “Says Dean. He thinks it’s too risky and he knows eventually I have to go home anyway.”

Gabriel’s lips curl up up a little. “Do you?”

Frustration clenches Castiel’s jaw. “Do I what?”

“Have to go home, c’mon kid, keep up.”

“I—”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got two interrelated problems. One, this Dean guy thinks you’re gonna take off on him eventually so he’s chickening out now—”

“He’s not chickening out! He’s protecting me—”

“And two,” Gabriel continues, flat out ignoring Castiel’s outburst, “both of you seem to be under the impression that if he’s  _ not _ guarding you that you’re not gonna be able to see each other.”

Castiel blinks stupidly at Gabriel.

“Uh….”

Gabriel’s palm smacks into his forehead. “Christ, the melodrama is thick enough to cut with a knife! First of all, we have like five other siblings—”

“Six,” Castiel interrupts.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“You always forget Hannah,” Castiel reminds him.

“She’s so quiet. It’s not natural,” Gabriel insists. “Anyway,  _ six _ other siblings in line for the throne. The throne you’ve  _ never _ wanted.”

“Like you did,” Castiel retorts, face flushing. “It was supposed to be yours.”

Gabriel holds his hands up. “Wasn’t a slight, Cas. Just a fact. We’re a lot a like, much as Mom and Dad wish we weren’t. Just because I flaked, doesn’t mean you have to take up my slack. It’s not life or death, dude. The monarchy’s practically a figurehead position these days.”

“Yes, but—”

“Just think about it, okay?” Gabriel ruffles Castiel’s hair, and Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “This guy makes you happy, right?”

Castiel’s fingers twist in his blanket, his stomach swooping. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”

“So then, you just gotta ask yourself if you really wanna give that up to go play Prince Charming for the rest of your life,” Gabriel tells him.

“They’ll cut me off,” Castiel says, thoughts whirring. How would he afford school without his family’s connections? Would he even be allowed to stay in the country?

“So? You’re a smart kid, Cas. You’ll figure something out. Do you even  _ like _ the courses they’ve got you taking?”

Not particularly, but then, he doesn’t really know what else might interest him more. He’s never really been given the freedom to consider it. Hell, he’s never given  _ himself  _ the freedom to consider it. One thing he knows, is that he’s never wanted to be in charge. He’s never wanted to be stuck in the fancy stuck up world he was raised in.

From the very first moment he’d gotten to have the space to actually breathe, he’d been rebelling against the idea of going back. What if Gabriel’s right? What if he could give it all up? Not just for Dean, but for himself.

A weight lifts from his shoulders and hope bubbles up in his chest. Gabriel’s smile widens. “There ya go,” he says, and Castiel laughs.

“This is insane,” Castiel says, grin on his face in spite of his words.

“Yeah, but it’s pretty cool too.” Gabriel looks at him like he’s proud of him, and maybe he’s the only member of their family who ever has been.

His mind is made up in an instant, and it should definitely take longer than that to make a decision this big, but he’s already chosen. Doing things by halves has never been his style. Briefly, a darker thought puts a damper on his swelling mood. “What if Dean still doesn’t want to be with me?”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.” Gabriel tilts his head to the side. “He strike you as particularly stupid?”

“No, but—”

“Kid, suck it up. You wanna know how he feels, then you gotta lay your cards on the table first. So you might get shot down, so your heart might get stomped into a pathetic soup-y mess, so you might spend the rest of your life a humiliated sad sack—”

“That’s a little extreme—”

“Point is, the worst that can happen is he says no and you move on. The worst that can happen if you don’t lay it all out is you spend the rest of your life wondering what if you did. Which one do you think’ll suck more?”

Castiel grimaces. “Good point.”

“I have my moments,” Gabriel says cheerfully. “So when’s loverboy back again?”

“A little over a week and a half.”

“Good, we have time to plan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you know me, you know that when I finish a story I always get pretty sad for a few days. It's a cycle I go through with writing and part of processing it for me. If you're so inclined I could really use a pick me up, so leave me your thoughts in the comments or come visit me on [tumblr](http://DaydreamDestiel.tumbr.com) if you wanna. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to start putting you guys back together. <3 
> 
> We all owe a huge thanks to [@Brenna_Fae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenna_Fae/profile) for basically handing me a huge chunk of plot when I got stuck here. A lot of this chapter was her idea and I love where she took it. So thanks, Brenna.

The first thing Dean does when he gets back from his vacation—if you could call sitting around in his underwear and moping a goddamn vacation—is sit in his car for a long moment. He feels heavy and weighed down. More than he did when he left because back then, he’d planned on returning.

And now? Well, he’s come to the realization that the only right thing to do here is to permanently resign. He’d been hoping that being apart from Castiel would give him the distance he needed to get over his feelings too, but all it’d done is make it even more clear just how far over his head Dean is when it comes to Castiel. Now he knows there’s no going back to how things were before.

So he sits in his car for as long as he can put it off, and then he sighs and climbs out. How can a walk through a parking garage be nostalgic? The elevator even feels melancholic. Outside of Castiel’s door, Dean pauses, drawing out the moment—stalling—before he has to do this thing that’s going to break him. He scrubs a hand over his unshaven jaw and then takes out his keycard.

There’s a sense of wrongness that hits him as soon as he’s inside. It’s too still—it feels empty. He pads into the livingroom and that’s when he notices what’s off. Castiel’s books are missing from the coffee table, the clothes that were normally scattered around on the chairs are gone.

“What the fuck,” Dean mumbles, wandering into Castiel’s room. Every little thing that made this apartment Castiel’s is absent. All that’s left is the furnishings that he assumes came with the place.

He’s trying not to panic, but something is obviously incredibly wrong. The closets, the dresser, they’re empty too, and Dean’s heart is triple timing it because he has no idea what’s going on. Benny. He whips out his phone and calls him—straight to voicemail. Fuck. Sam? Sam’s gotta know what’s going on.

_ “Dean?”  _ Sam asks when he picks up, confused-sounding.

“Yeah, something’s wrong. Castiel’s stuff is gone and Benny’s not here.”

_ “I know,” _ Sam says, too calm.

“You  _ know?”  _ Dean demands, ‘cause what the friggin’ hell?

_ “You didn’t check your email while you were off, did you?”  _ Sam asks, sounding irritated. Dean’s cheeks flush—he always forgets to check his email, but he wasn’t expecting anything important to come in either.

“What? Maybe. Okay, fine, no. Shut up and tell me what the hell’s going on,” he replies, frustrated at Sam and himself.

_ “Castiel fired us, dude. Didn’t say much, just that he didn’t require our services any more.”  _ Dean’s heart plummets down past his shoes, all the way through the twenty-one floors below him and splatters on the cement of the parking garage.  _ “I’m surprised your key even still works. I emailed you to check in when you got back to figure out a new assignment.” _

“I—” Dean’s at a loss for words. Sure, he’d already planned to resign, but there’s something final about this. This isn’t Dean letting Castiel go to protect him, this is Castiel realizing that he doesn’t want Dean. That Dean being gone is good for him, and even if it’s true, it’s still a knife wound to Dean’s chest. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

_ “Sure,” _ Sam says sympathetically.  _ “Take your time, man.” _

Dean hangs up before the itch in his throat at Sam’s voice can turn into pathetic tears. He’s being dumb. This is what he wanted isn’t it? For Castiel to be safe. Dean’s breaths are coming too fast, and he’s gonna choke if he doesn’t get out of here.

It’s on the back of the front door that he sees it—a sticky note in Castiel’s writing. He peels it off and clenches it in his hand, but he can’t hold still long enough to read it when all of the air is being sucked out of the room.

So he doesn’t stop, not until he’s back in his car with his forehead pressed to the steering wheel. It takes a few excruciating long moments for him to pull himself together, and when he finally does, he finds his cheeks are wet.

Fuck, he’s such a dumbass. This is always how awful it’d feel. He wipes his face on his sleeve and it’s then that he notices he’s still clutching the note. There's nothing on it except for an address that Dean doesn’t recognize.

His first thought is another panic-laced one—Castiel’s in trouble. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been fired, or that it’s Castiel’s writing on the note, what if it’s a kidnapping or something? What if someone made Castiel write that? It’s far-fetched, but Dean doesn’t care. If there’s any chance that Castiel’s in danger he’s going after him.

He keys the address into Google Maps on his phone and finds it’s an apartment building relatively close to Castiel’s school but in a crappier part of town. Frowning, Dean memorizes the directions and doesn’t waste time letting his mind come up with scenarios. Ideally, he’d form some kind of plan, but he can’t let himself think too deeply about what’s happening because he has no idea how long that note’s been there.

The drive takes too long, and Dean’s practically crawling out of his skin when he gets there. He double checks the gun in his shoulder holster, the extra magazine on the other side. Then there’s nothing else to do but go check out the apartment—number 308.

Everything seems utterly normal on his climb to the third floor, just your run of the mill student housing as far as he can tell. He’s caught off-guard enough that his panic subsides a bit. It isn’t until he’s standing in front of the door that it occurs to him how monumentally stupid he’s being. He’s walking right up to the front door with no back up and no one knows where he is.

If the worst happens, and he’s the only one who knows where Castiel is, then he could be sentencing Castiel to death. Fuck. He pulls out his phone and quickly texts his location to Sam with a note to send the cops if Sam doesn’t hear from him in ten minutes. Then he powers off his phone and squares his shoulders.

His heart is pounding in his chest and it feels like his fist takes forever to land a triple knock on the door. There’s movement inside, and Dean steps back from the door a little, not exactly sure what’s about to happen.

The door swings open and—Castiel’s suddenly staring at Dean, totally fine. He—Dean—what? Dean wants to say something, like maybe hi or what the fuck was with the cryptic note, but Castiel just offers him a little smile and nods for him to follow him in.

Inside, Dean finds your standard poor student apartment. Second-hand furniture and tiny rooms. There’s a rickety bookshelf full of Castiel’s various books, and Dean still doesn’t know what to say. What the hell is going on?

Castiel radiates nervous energy as he reaches for a piece of paper on top of the bookshelf, and Dean couldn’t keep himself from appreciating the sliver of tanned skin that his t-shirt rides up and reveals if he tried. His overriding emotion nonetheless remains his complete confusion.

Until Castiel hands him the letter … the paper’s thick, formal, embossed with fancy script. For a second, Dean just blinks at it, but then he starts skimming—catching words like “abdicating” and “throne” and he puts two and two together pretty fast when he gets to Castiel’s signature at the bottom. Understanding dawns on him.

Nauseously, Dean’s stomach knots up. He might be sick—he can’t let Castiel give up his entire life. “Cas, you can’t do this,” he finally manages to say, his voice hollowed out and scraped raw. “I’m not worth it.”

That same nervous little smile is still on Castiel’s face, his blue eyes soft. “It’s already done, Dean. That’s just my copy.” Castiel pauses, biting at his lip, and Dean doesn’t know what to feel, he’s so wrung out. “Besides, even though you  _ are _ worth it, I didn’t do it for you.”

Dean wets his lips, but he doesn’t interrupt as Castiel continues, “I never felt like I belonged there. Or anywhere. Going home was never going to make me happy. The truth is that I was scared to do anything else—I didn’t even let myself think about it. But,” Castiel smiles gently at him, and Dean’s heart melts all over again for him, “you made me brave. You made me believe in myself, that I was more than just the throne and parties and drugs.”

“Cas, I—”

“I need you to know I don’t expect anything from you. If—Dean, if you decide you want to be with me, I want it to be because you  _ want _ to, not because you feel guilty.” Castiel scrubs a hand through his hair and leaves it even messier than it was before, and God, he’s adorable. “You also need to know what you’d be getting into … I’ve got nothing. The rest of my semester’s paid for and the only reason I can even eat is because my meal plan is included.”

Castiel’s gaze finally drops from Dean’s and his cheeks flush pink, but he keeps talking, “I have no idea what I’ll do for work, and there are gonna be times when I don’t do so well with the transition from pampered Prince to pauper. You might not’ve noticed,” Castiel sneaks a peek up at him with a smirk, “But I’m pretty spoiled. Anyway … once you have time to think it over, I’ll be here if you still want me. Because I love you, Dean. I have for a long time and you deserve to know that.”

Faster than an avalanche crashing down a mountain, Dean’s heart races in his chest. It’s too much to process but his mouth is clearly the smart one, because it takes over where his brain is freezing up. “I don’t need time to think,” he says, and for a brief second Castiel looks crushed until Dean grins at him. “I love you, dumbass. You think I’m gonna give up on you just ‘cause you basically fired me?”

Castiel laughs, his lips twitching like it was unexpected and Dean doesn’t get a moment to really appreciate that confused, cute look on his face before Castiel launches himself into Dean’s arms. Relief floods Dean’s body and fuck, has he ever missed that feeling of Castiel solid and warm, face pressed into Dean’s neck like he wants to stay there forever. Which really wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

But then Castiel pulls back, eyes shiny, and pushes up to press their lips together, and yeah, Castiel’s right, that  _ is _ better. Slow soft kisses build up into deeper ones, and Dean can’t stop touching Castiel, can’t stop himself from hauling Castiel even closer with an arm wrapped around his lower back.

Eventually, they’re both smiling too wide to keep kissing and Dean breaks away to chuckle. There’s a huge warm feeling welling up in his chest, too much happiness for him to contain. He’s trying hard to ignore the concerns that are still lingering in the back of his mind. Castiel made this choice, and Dean’s smart enough to know that it’s Castiel’s choice to make. It’s not on him to  _ let  _ Castiel make it.

\---

“So,” Dean says later after he'd texted Sam, when they’re settled on Castiel’s couch with a pizza Dean’d ordered for them sitting on his milk crate coffee table, “I’m thinking I might take on a desk job with Sam.”

Castiel’s brow furrows as he looks up at Dean, “But you love your job.”

“Yes and no,” Dean replies. “I liked it when the only person I had to worry about was me … and the hours suck if it’s not you I’m spending all that time with.” Dean pauses to shoot Castiel a smirk. “If we’re gonna do this, I wanna give it a real chance. Means I gotta be around in the first place—and stick around.”

He doesn’t say it, but the implication there is that he’d rather not keep putting his life on the line now that he has someone to come back to. Especially since Castiel’s really going to need him. There are guys who can have a family and still work the job, and Dean’s kind of in awe of them right now, ‘cause he’s pretty sure that if he tries that, he'll wind up with an ulcer from his permanent anxiety.

Besides, Sam's been trying to get him to agree to a desk job for over a year now too, so this’ll make him happy. And as an added bonus, maybe it'll give him time to figure out what he wants to do with his life alongside Castiel. Being a bodyguard was never his life’s ambition, he'd just blindly followed in his dad's footsteps. So maybe it's time for him to rediscover himself too.

“Oh,” Castiel says, looking like he can't decide if he's relieved or still concerned.

So Dean leans over with a smile and kisses him. “It's gonna be good, Cas.”

Castiel's blue eyes light up, crinkles at the corners of them to go along with his smile. “Yes, it is,” he agrees.

The tone of his voice says he means more than just the change Dean’s gonna make in his job, and Dean's face warms under the affection in Castiel's gaze. Silently, Dean agrees with him, it is gonna be good. All of the challenges they're facing, all of the adjustments … all of the doubts Dean's sure are gonna surface at some point? Through it all, it's still gonna be good—and he’s excited to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading along and thank you to everyone who left wonderful comments & kudos. You guys really make it feel worth it. 
> 
> Don't forget to check out my other works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/works). You can also subscribe to me [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/profile) to be notified when I post new works. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Link to reblog.](https://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com/post/174977788067/the-princes-protection-guard-daydreamdestiel)


	8. Timestamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I owe a big thanks to [@Ltleflrt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt), who mentioned the song [The First Days of Spring by Noah and the Whale](https://youtu.be/r0tjkuM-1uY) in a comment on this fic. It so perfectly fit the story that I cried like a baby, and then stayed up until 4:30 a.m. writing this timestamp because feelings. Lol.

He's sitting in Charlie's book store when it comes on the radio. The deep thump of the bass drum catches his attention as he's thumbing through a book he's read several times, but keeps coming back to. Good stories are like that, they nestle their way into your heart and pull you in over and over again.

> _“It's the first day of spring_  
>  _And my life is starting over again_  
>  _Well the trees grow, the river flows_  
>  _And its water will wash away my sin_  
>  _For I do believe that everyone  
>  Has one chance to fuck up their lives._ ”

Castiel swallows hard and sets the book down, calloused fingers of his right hand fiddling with the plain gold band on his left, thoughts travelling back through time as the song washes over him, memories surfacing of the night he lost Dean. Temporary though it'd turned out to be, it still aches when he lets himself think of those weeks.

> _“Like a cut down tree, I will rise again_  
>  _I'll be bigger, and stronger than ever before._
> 
> _If I'm still here hoping, that one day you may come back.”_

The way he'd spiraled out of control, and then finally got his shit together—just a little—replays itself while he stares sightlessly, absorbing the music.

> _“There's a hope in every new seed_  
>  _And every flower that grows on the earth_  
>  _And though I love you, and you know that_  
>  _Well I no longer know what that's worth.”_

Getting Dean back had only been the start. They've been through so much since then—almost 8 years worth of struggling, and successes, and so much more love than Castiel’d ever hoped for in his life. More than he's ever thought he deserves.

Sometimes he's still a mess, even now. Sometimes he overreacts to things, or he gets clingy, or jealous for no reason. His stomach clenches a little as he thinks about the fights they've had.

The time Dean stayed with Sam for three days because they'd both lost their tempers and been too stubborn to make up until they were both going out of their minds with how awful they’d felt. How Dean’d shown back up at their house with a dozen roses and an apology even though Castiel’d started the argument.

> _“But I'll come back to you, in a year or so_  
>  _And rebuild ready to become_  
>  _Oh the person, you believed in_  
>  _Or the person that you used to love.”_

Biting his lip, Castiel sets the book down and leans backward in the plush overstuffed chair he's curled up in, head tilting until it rests against the seatback, eyes drifting shut.

He lets himself remember Dean teaching him how to fix something on the Impala for the first time, green eyes sparkling in the sunlight as he'd smiled at him.

“If you're gonna be a commoner like the rest of us, gotta learn how to take care of a car, Cas.”

It'd been love at first sight when Dean’d started giving Castiel lessons about car maintenance. There was something about working on vehicles that clicked in Castiel's brain. It was like a puzzle that he could solve and something solid that he could do with his hands at the same time.

They'd spent so many hours under that shiny black hood, covered in engine grease, Dean teaching Castiel everything he knew in between private smiles and warm laughter, stolen kisses.

And that one memorable time that Dean’d dropped down to his knees for him after backing Castiel up against the bumper. One time only, because the concrete’d been hell on Dean's knees.

A rueful grin tugs at Castiel's lips. Just thinking about the way that Dean’d looked up at him then stirs a heat in Castiel's gut and burns his cheeks. This isn't the time to dwell on it though.

So he thinks of something else, he thinks of going to school to complete his degree in automotive technology. He thinks about long days spent in classes or under a car while Dean worked with Sam. The way they'd both had to adjust to being away from each other after so long spent in each other's pockets.

Missing Dean despite seeing him every day has only faded a little since then. Possibly due to Castiel's overly dependent nature, or a side effect of having unfettered access to him for so long before real life had so rudely intruded.

He can still recall Dean's rough-gentle hands stroking over his cheeks and through his hair the first time Castiel had admitted just how much he missed him. The way he'd soothed him with soft words and made love to him slowly in their bed, reassuring Castiel that they'd always come back together.

Blowing out a sigh, Castiel loses himself in his recollections, his apprenticeship with Bobby, the day Dean had picked him up after work and surprised him with a drive to the country to sit out on the hood of his car and look up at the stars—and how when he'd looked back down there'd been a ring box in Dean's slightly shaky hands.

The relief on his face when Castiel had accepted his stumbling proposal. Phenomenal sex in the back seat of the Impala—not for the first or the last time.

Dean in his black tux and blue bow-tie because although he'd said he didn't care what Castiel chose for their wedding, he'd made an off-hand comment about blue like Castiel's eyes. The way Dean had looked at him during their vows, love and joy shining in his eyes, and in the curve of his lips. Lips that Castiel had tasted in short order, accompanied by raucous cheers.

All the way up to opening his own auto shop last year. The long days he's been pulling to get it off the ground.

Through everything, Dean's been there, cheering him on every step of the way. Encouraging him to make friends—like Charlie—encouraging him to discover a job that he's passionate about … just encouraging him. Where would Castiel be without him? What would his life even look like right now?

He might have caved to his parents pressure. He'd still be a prince. An unhappy, miserable puppet living a boring life in a castle he’s never liked.

Thank God Dean came back.

Familiar fingers smoothe over Castiel's furrowed brow and slide into his hair, melting the tension from his body. He keeps his eyes closed, waiting, and Dean doesn't disappoint. Warm firm lips brush against Castiel's just long enough to make him want more. “That song got you again, huh?”

Humming, Castiel tilts his chin a little toward Dean, and gets another kiss. “She does it on purpose,” Castiel complains, eyes opening to focus on Dean's, forcing his expression into a scowl instead of the grin he really wants to give Dean. “When she knows you're coming to collect me.”

Dean chuckles, fingers scratching through Castiel's hair, looking gorgeous and extremely kissable—but then when doesn't he? “She does," Dean confirms.

“Hey!” Charlie calls out. “It was Meg’s idea to start with. She even found the song.”

“You were sworn to secrecy!” Meg objects, accusation and betrayal in her tone.

There's laughter and scuffling and Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean extends a hand and Castiel takes it, letting Dean pull him to his feet.

All softly with his beautiful olive green eyes, Dean looks at him. The song probably causes him to remember it all too, even if he pretends it doesn't. “Ready to get out of here and go home, Prince Charming?”

A smirk pulls up the corner of Castiel's lips, “Yeah,” he says, lacing his fingers with Dean's. “Let's go home.”

There's no place he'd rather be than in the home they'd made together, with Dean. Sometimes it feels like meeting Dean was when Castiel's story really started. There's no telling where it'll end, but Castiel plans to spend as much of the in-between as he can with Dean. The good, the bad, the end of the world? So long as he gets to have this—have Dean?

He'll take all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed. Boosts to my confidence definitely result in more work. ;)
> 
> And if you really, really enjoyed maybe rec it, or check out my other 60+ works. 
> 
> K.Thx.ILoveYou.Bye ;P


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